Aether: The Arbiter's Tears
by freakofTheMesa
Summary: In the world the Raven left behind, a teenage boy must sacrifice his life to save the planet he loves. But amid this tale of tragedy, there are uncomfortable questions about to be answered...     Rated T for occasional cursing, and controversial themes.
1. Introduction

QUICK DISCLAIMER: I known nothing to do with Raven. That stuff all belongs to the British Broadcasting Corporation, and I acknowledge that.

* * *

><p>It is a strange area - history. What happened ten seconds ago, no matter how relevant it may have been to a person's life, is an area that many people are too fearful of to approach. Their only desired direction of thought is to what is either in front of them or ahead, and even when it is the natural answer to look backwards to observe a situation: it is still distorted by what their mind wanted to remember and what it didn't want to remember.<p>

On the planet where the kingdoms of Alaunus and Linveria were situated - this was definitely the case. Despite everyone having an equal opportunity for education - there were still the majority of people who would want to blindly follow the words that people higher up in their self-proclaimed 'hierarchy' would tell them: press publications, royal speeches, even town elders... believing it was their purpose as human beings to pass down the information of those above them who offered that information. Yet that was a line that continued prior to the existence of their inspirations. But there were a select few who did not have that perceived luxury. They were natural-born thinkers who could not stop observing the world around them, wondering why they existed, observing every last little detail in the hope that all their thoughts and abstract dreams would click into place. And there were the even fewer few, who would look beyond the boundaries of what was around them: look at the areas that could not be seen, but yet must have been there; mathematical thinking applied to the world seen in front of their eyes. And it was through these few that an answer to the ultimate philosophical question: "why are we here?" was answered.

Of course, that is not to say that the field of history is perfect. Competition exists even among those who only seek truth, not intending to be competitive. But it is of the human nature for people to make choices of which extraordinary, historically-derived theory they follow: and it is the voice of the majority that speaks the loudest from a distance. And the most widely-accepted theory in this case was that of the Arnolan philosopher Samsa, put forward in the year 557 S.A.

Almost 1000 years before the time we are about to explore, a cluster of rocks existed in semi-orbital positions around a particular position in a particular galaxy. Through the mysterious ways of the cosmos, there was enough of a mixture of gravity and antigravity to allow these pieces of rock to remain in a position at ease with each other; almost just waiting to be formed. And somehow, and at some point, a strange phenomenon, now known as the First Power, crashed into the rock that was nearest the centre of the orbit: and through this enormous power, the planet that we now live on was formed.

And once this was done: the role of The Deity began to take shape. The Deity was the singular being, the Supreme, the One, the Grandfather and Grandmother of the universe where the Sun and Moon are Its children, the guardian and Ultimate Protector of the planet on which we live. To those of a later day, He was omniscient, omnipresent - but always immaterial. Some historians and philosophers even suspect that it was The Deity Themselves who had been the one to generate the First Power: creating our world.

But through His Judgement, the Deity knew he had to create six sorcerers - upholders of law that could walk the young crafted lands of terra, flora and fauna; to ensure the true safety of the world: Servants of the Deity. However: according to historians who hold cynical knives of analysis - He could not contemplate the form of his own powers, and created many more than the five originally intended. According to Samsa, it was eighteen who had emerged from the craft of what is now known to theologians as the 0th World, but He was not to let his judgement be beaten: and decided that the eighteen had to be narrowed down to one single champion - one worthy of being able to walk the land as a Sorcerer: so the Deity also created an anthropomorphic, skilled warrior now known as The Great Raven, to help guide these fellow 'warriors' as they competed for the title of champion. Through a four-week period of tough competition - a first champion, Lamar, was found, and he became the first Servant of the Deity; and such was the success of the method that The Deity guided the Raven to declare six more champions, each with skills different to the last.

However - we should consider that The Deity Himself was but still young at this point: and He had forgotten a critical aspect of the planet. Owing to the Being's construction of the planet, there existed five different layers that formed the life of the planet. There was the material worlds of Alaunus, Linveria and the Merchant Islands, that ordinary humans lived on. Then, beneath that, although thought to human beings as being heaven, - there was Lunaris - the divine world where the Servants Of The Deity trained and exercised their authority on the world. Then beneath that, there was the third layer, and the one that the Deity had forgotten about - Equilibrium. Ultimately, because of the methodology in which the planet was constructed - the existence of the world depended on volatile meta-particle physics kept in balance by Light and Dark Aether: with Aether being a constructed 'algorement' - an algorithmic element, one with pre-determined reactions tied to rules and contexts, almost like a computer, that ultimately influenced genetic coding: helping to create new life, as well as to influence and destroy it. It was also not a natural element, it was crafted from many, many, years of research... yet this fact eluded ordinary planetary citizens - who merely saw it as the governing force of the world around them: providing balances of positive and negative emotions.

But what exactly is Aether? A complex question, but, in my opinion, Aether is a radioactive element, that depending on its denomination, has the power to influence people's minds in so far as human tendency - good and bad behaviours, positive and negative emotions. It is almost directly linked to the sentient being held in the centre of it. If the sentient collapses, the Aether will disperse, and the world ends. If Equilibrium is broken to too much of an extent, the Sentient is not able to control it, and the world ends.

But going back to the original point: because the Deity had spent so much time focusing on bringing law and order into the world, that the world's equilibrium was starting to fade: light Aether was existing more than dark Aether within Equilibrium - and neither could rule dominantly over the other, without question. Therefore - the Deity realised He had to act. After Lamar's victory, He created a darker being known as Nevar from the same Aether material as the Great Raven had been; to walk the ground, now controlling the formerly-static demon army. The tournaments and worlds consequently grew darker. Over the course of the next four and five years of the 0th Age, six new champions were found: Grema, Jaddo, Linma, Arnor, Kenat and Versad. And soon after the seventh tournament was finished, the seven champions were summoned to Lunaris and The Deity provided each one with a distinct duty.

LAMAR- God of industry, creator of Lamarou

GREMA- Goddess of nature, creator of Gremii

JADDO- God of strength, creator of Jaddarus

LINMA & VERSAD- Gods of courage, creators of Linveria

ARNOR- Goddess of water, creator of Arnola

KENAT- Goddess of sky, creator of Kenatria

Soon after this, the kingdoms of Alaunus and Linveria properly came into fruition: and the First Age truly began. After their triumph, the Seven Gods vanished deep into the Earth - and theologians and historians alike do not know where they had gone to. Some believe that they had disappeared into an imaginary fourth layer that mathematicians call the 'epicentrum'. with only their spirits left to watch the kingdom; while others say the Deity simply deleted their existence as they were no longer needed, whilst leaving the magical auras of their Servant powers floating in Equilibrium to maintain their influence of justice and right on the kingdoms that they had created. But now, as a result of further geographical intervention by the Deity, Alaunus and Linveria co-existed as kingdoms parallel to one another, and The Deity soon spawned many of his 'children' to walk these new earths: becoming the citizens that walked the planet in the First Age. But as well as this, in order, according to historians to reinforce His power, he created a unique identification system for citizens that he could use to differentiate every single person from another: to identify those more clearly who were going to encourage disequilibrium. First, He used the symbols of the tournaments: sun, tree, mountain, wave, moon and cloud, as a birthmark to immediately create a political and social division, though not in an adversarial sense. A child's name would then be derived from the letters of both his parents' names, names chosen by The Deity and then channelled through a priest at childbirth so he could inform the parents of their names. Whichever parent they got the most letters from, their symbol would be that child's Primary Symbol, with their other being Secondary.

At first, the gift of inquisitiveness, an important aspect of equilibrium, had made citizens worry that the chosen system was proving too complex, but eventually it became an accepted, and sometimes tolerated, norm. 5-letter names were, and even now, remain the most common, while 4-letter and 6-letter are much rarer, and it is only about fifty times every century on average that a 7-letter or 3-letter warrior is formed. A pattern that was noticed by First and Second age historians was that those rare finds were and are somehow destined to shake the world in some way, whether it be in a good or bad way - which we shall see, although not so much as we would probably predict, later on. A side note to mention is that when a mother is pregnant, instead of giving birth naturally, they head to a birthing temple, and through His power, a priest uses divine magic to make the mother spawn from one to three children, with six births in ten resulting in one child being born, three in ten for two and just one in ten for three - with each married couple only being allowed one chance at pregnancy. Only heterosexual couples who were married could have children, and it is entirely luck that decides whether the child is a boy or a girl. The system, according to theorists, was to prevent problems that would stem from overpopulation, with the population always remaining at 1.5 million through this method - an ideally large amount according to His belief. After all, it was a small planet.

And so, over the next 200 years, life across the kingdoms of Alaunus and Linveria continued to grow and grow, and as population rates increased, technology progressed and communities grew. The world was entering an unrivalled stage of happiness. However, that was all about to change. One day, a mysterious citizen called Moyjo, who had always adventured off beaten paths to get away from the noises of society, entered the Mountains of Divinity and through his continual search for new phenomena - he found himself at an area known as the Border Lines, a geographical jagged line that presented the ways in which the geographical landmasses of Alaunus and Linveria were tied together. It is important to remember here that Moyjo was truly different among other created citizens, and many gave them the cruel label of someone suffering from mental retardation - giving him a cold emotional reception as a result of his sheer difference and undefinable nature: which was probably what lead to him to exploring the locations that he did so. But I digress.

Unfortunately, for the entire world, and for Moyjo, the young man happened to be carrying artefacts known as Fire Stones, whose origin and purpose were very much explained by their names. He somehow managed to drop them onto the border lines by accident - and what followed was a spectacular, exothermic reaction between the particle elements used to maintain the binding of the landmasses and the energy within the fire stones, causing irreparable damage to the landmasses and killing all of the citizens that walked the planet, including Moyjo himself. The worst casualty of the disaster however was Equilibrium itself - the deaths of all of the planet's citizens had allowed Equilibrium to imbalance itself again, this time more in the favour of Dark Aether. But The Deity would not be beaten, owing to his omnipotence, and so, before further environmental disaster occurred, with some areas of land still relatively volatile, and prone to aftershocks, He flooded all the planet with an ocean of white magic - erasing all that had existed up to that moment in time, and restoring the worlds, simply, to what they looked like at the formal beginning of the First Age; massaging Equilibrium.

And so, the First Age ended and the Second Age started.

Yet shortly before, deep within the ground, the forces of the god Kenat were about to come into play. Through her personal conviction or her spirits that roamed Equilibrium (that is a matter of theological debate), she did not hold any grievance towards what Moyjo had done, and sympathised with his personality (as opposed to the other Gods). And through permission of The Deity, she was allowed to create a new race for the Second Age based around the individual differences circulated in people like Moyjo. They were named the Citsituans - and Kenat's intention was to have them with her personal race, the Kenatrians, within their kingdom: and yet the Citsituans would begin their new lives, being directed and coaxed out of their own worlds and disconnection into the living breathing land around them through the careful direction of Kenatrians. But from the moment of their creation, Citsituans made their mark on the world through their truly unbelievable minds: through combining whatever islets of ability they had, they helped to reconstruct Kenatria City in a way never thought possible: a downward, sloping metropolis against a curved cliff-face that stood majestically against the canyon. And it was for this city that the Kenatrians and Citsituans would find the deepest war-like instincts in their minds to train and ultimately fight at any cost to protect their livelihood, until every last drop of blood was squeezed from their defeated enemies.

Yet Kenatria was not the only land to be built from scratch. Indeed, numerous sources of Second Age historical evidence chronicle the 'rebirth' of the Alaunian kingdoms in particular. The Deity was not about to allow a repeat for Moyjo's Mistake, and He himself, according to those cynical theologians again, had learnt from His own mistakes too. Towns and cities grew in size, structure and technology: with Lamarou becoming the centre-fold town for Alaunus - with the Royal Castle being built to dominate the town with its supreme stature and design; its overall central nature in trade and commerce made living citizen numbers grow there every year, for we must take into account that some citizens created to live in other lands chose to move to Lamarou at their own free will - the Deity did not restrict them. All other kingdoms grew too in concordance: with Gremii, Jaddarus and Arnola capitalising on the original art and knowledge that the Deity and Gods allowed them to retain from The First Age, to shape their own societies. And, unknown to a few, contemporary Alaunian historians life grew in Linveria too, and as we may see later: it can be argued to be almost technologically and efficiently better as a landmass than Alaunus. But alas, both Alaunus and Linveria now refused, after the Treaty of Sotos, to actually engage with each other in any policies of any kind. People from Alaunus could enter Linveria. People from Linveria could enter Alaunus. But all political factors intertwining the two lands on either side of the Merchant Islands were removed. In fact, there were many citizens in both kingdoms who refused to recognise each other's existence: it was what made the prospect of becoming a historian appear less attractive in recent years: difficult issues would have to be addressed, and some people are not prepared to accept the truth.

But how, despite life being rewound at the First Age, did the Second Age historians know about its existence? Archaeology. Life was only rewound above ground. Many telltale factors of First Age life were still buried beneath the feet of the modern citizens.

And that concludes your personal introduction to the planet in question, and we will begin the story. To us, we will discover how contrary to what all citizens believe, the Deity Himself was not an invincible being: and that His true origins went beyond all contemplation of what citizens saw in Him. And this arguably is what shaped what is to come. It is 651 years into the Second Age: and we start to describe how a certain select group of citizens, young and old, bound by blood and motive, became unknown heroes in the lands they called home as the planet faced its biggest threat to have faced it since its original creation. Not all will immediately feel the fires of this war - but there will be a few who are young, that will, before anyone else, stumble into their life-changing positions; and those who casually side-step it now will not be able to escape so easily later on. It is around this time that the first crack in His armour appears.

It is time to tell the story of the world that never was.

* * *

><p>I'm still in the process of writing the concluding chapters of this story, so please be patient before the next upload. Rate &amp; review!<p> 


	2. Prologue

The lavender-coloured chalk material that formed the grooves in the cave edges was so convincing one would almost consider it to be real. Yet it was all aesthetic. But still beautiful - if any ordinary citizen of the planet could see these walls, they would marvel at their natural... yet somehow un-natural presence and shape. There was nothing like that in Alaunus or Linveria.

The Mines of Wexar were the largest region of the utterly gargantuan network of caves surrounding the fields of the divine kingdom of Lunaris, and were very important to all those who existed in that kingdom for many reasons. The first, and most important, was that it was a rich mining source of dark Aether. The element could easily be formed from careful scientific manipulation of the material of the caves - which the Deity's servants practised on an almost weekly basis. Ultimately, serving the planet was about preserving Equilibrium - and when there was too much light, it was a very convenient area to access to balance everything out.

But that's not to say that the mines weren't inaccessible. They couldn't afford to be. Over time, the Servants of the Deity, for their own convenience, magically carved out rocky footpaths and other modes of transportation through the mysterious surroundings between the various important sources of Dark Aether that could be traced within the mine. So as a result, when a person walked in - they would see a brilliantly purple yet rocky open cave, but with paths clearly seen to cross the possible abysses and pits within the room, reducing nerves and making the Mines an overall less hospitable area.

But that was the problem. It wasn't inaccessible. At least, if you didn't mind the deadly-to-the-touch material that was Dark Aether.

For the Servants of the Deity were fighting a large threat. Larger than they had ever faced during the Second Age. And it arguably stretched further back in time than even then. There was one person, a person with so much desire for vengeance, so much hurt, and so much anger in their heart that would they go to desperate lengths to achieve their ultimate goals. Even to break into the divine kingdom of Lunaris, an unforgivable act of human treason in itself; but to start breaking towards the core of the Mines of Wexar, in search of supplies of Dark Aether.

But the Servants of the Deity did not know the one, terrible advantage that their new enemy maintained over them; making him grow in menace every hour.

For the supplies of the Mine were so deep... those heavenly disciples had not even thought to venture lower than where they had already got to. But through the skill and cunning of this mysterious stranger, he had found his way into previously unreachable areas of the deadly region, and was carving out tonnes and tonnes of the deathly element out of the walls. And the further he dug, the deeper he dared to delve, the more he found, and the stronger in intensity it became. And what was more, those of the light would never find him. For he was able to cover his tracks in the strongest way possible, and trick his enemies in the best way possible. By manipulating the superficial nature of the area against them... so no-one could even notice where and how the man had begun to dug deeper.

But Lenmis did not care about those sorts of details anymore. He knew he was too good an alchemist of darkness to be tricked.

And now, as he stood in what he considered his special room, namely, a tall yet slim cavern deep within the mines, lit by purple flames devised from the Dark Aether he had just mined, which consisted of an entrance platform with a semi-circular pathway that sloped down to the floor from the left and right sides of the ledge - he saw the latest finished product of his creation. And it was certainly one he was pleased with, and proud of. For whilst he was not sure at least in the long run - of its success, it would certainly go a long way to please him, in terms of the goal he wanted to achieved. The creation looked largely human, but wore a gray helmet almost carved out of what looked like charred metal, with a flowing black cape with a mixture of the material of nothingness known as Noiraphia and Dark Aether dripping off it, and with nothing being seen of its human face at all - except for glowing bright purple slits that symbolized eyes coming from the quasi-helmet and quasi-visor. After he had observed what appeared to him to be the finer details of his new monstrous creation, the man - with his bleeding eyes, stared at his creation and began to speak.

"Your creation has concluded... you may now exist in the material world, and you are now under my control. I will name you Larazak, and you will oversee my plan of sending the planetary bomb crashing into Alaunus - unleashing a sea of Noiraphia across the world. I will soon release that moon - and I shall now make the wretched Lamarouish king my next possession. However - take heart in the darkness that consumes you, for this is not my first plan should you fail - but you will not. I will not let you. Do not let yourself fail. Do not allow yourself to fail... for the darkness... for... Linveria... for me"

One sentence of that comment was indeed cynical. Larazak consisted of pure darkness - his Aether consumed brain could not understand the idea of 'taking heart in his darkness': for that was all that was within him, pulsing through his veins: everything that was bad for the ordinary human being.

And in Lenmis's mind, that was true perfection.

_**-JENABE PROMENADE, SOUTHERN LAMAROU, FOUR YEARS EARLIER-**_

Despite all the strength that he may have earned over the last five years of his life, this was a trip that the Citsituan redhead hoped in his mind would end soon. Everything was so alien to him... the terrible crashing sound of wheels against gravel, the mixture of happy and upset chatter of people around him, and the uneven gravity that kept making his surroundings vibrate up and down to such a state that in fact - the child wondered if he had the sound of someone vomiting earlier on. The 10-year old could not keep his eyes open, for they were flickering uncontrollably: offering no helpful source of sight; which was what happened when his mind tried to earn the state of when it went into shutdown. And besides, even if he did see something: he would not remember it.

But suddenly everything stopped. And for nearly eight long seconds, there was an uneasy, ghastly silence.

"RIGHT, EVERYBODY OUT!"

Somor felt movement and action around him - and desperately tried to open his eyes. As he did so, he slowly began to adjust himself to his surroundings. It was a room of rusty iron, containing soft yet not prickly hay: that looked almost like a farmer's carriage. So why were there human beings in the back of this carriage? Somor did not even bother to think of why he was in the back of this carriage.

"COME ON GINGE, YOU'LL HOLD EVERYONE UP!"

Somor recognised the term, and turning around - he saw a thin yet muscular looking man standing to the right hand side of the open double doors; Somor's eyes heading straight to the blue bandana over his hair before his brown bristly beard resembling an arrow pointing downwards. As his emotional register started to come back, Somor detected that the man didn't appear to be friendly - and not wanting another shouty response, Somor hurried out of the coach and into the soft falling drizzle that was falling over his new surroundings. Now: his analytical mind switched from the man to assessing the new, strange surroundings and the falling rain, to such an extent that the child did not hear the man saying "wait here and I'll take you home"

Yet it was unlikely that Somor would have made sense of this comment.

Somor was a 10-year old boy who was unlike many boys who lived in this new town, or Alaunus for that matter. For he was a Citsituan, part of the race created purposefully by Kenat for existence in the Second Age; the race of special people who lived in Kenatria to be trained to become ordinary citizens of the planet, living their own lives. However: owing to the unfortunate nature of Somor's upbringing so far, and the fact he was only ten years old, Somor still suffered several impediments that continued to get in the way of him socially - to prevent him from full participation in society. His focus on details rather than the whole could easily make more 'neurally-typical' human beings not understand his point of view. In addition, Somor had immense problems with the tones of sounds of anything being too loud or being too impulsive: for there were certain sounds that charmed Somor at this stage of his life, and he would often sit in the same location for hours just trying to listen to the particular sound, as it was quite relaxing. But on the other hand - tones that were too harsh within his brain would trigger a panic attack and emotional upset for Somor.

But at ten years old - Somor was more vulnerable than ever: for he was no longer as socially disconnected as he was when he was younger. He could go through all the negative events that would go on in his life, but experience the unpleasant emotions of anger, disappointment, sadness and grief that if he was... withdrawn into his own world, he would not notice. So the risk of Somor becoming emotionally tarnished at this young age was higher than ever before. But that was not to say that Somor was totally helpless as a human being. For after suffering whatever emotional trauma he had suffered at the age of five, he had been enrolled under the care of Kenatria's rigorous Youth Military, and through his hard yet rewarding experiences had learned much about human social interaction, language, and physical and mental abilities. In fact, for his age, Somor was quite the athlete, in terms of both physical ability and logical ability. But all these advantages existed among the dangers that his limitations threatened to unleash upon his vulnerable and continually tangled mind. And his new surroundings looked as though they were not going to help that much either. But on the other hand: whereas some Citsituans had a one-track mind, Somor had only one way of thought. He viewed life visually as a chessboard, therefore, in an extremely military-like sense, which would sometimes give people the impression that he did not care about what they were saying to him, as he failed to display any obvious emotion.

He was just both very defensive and very disciplined. Both had flaws.

Somor, born in the Kingdom of Kenatria, and living there until a couple of days ago, was now in the kingdom considered to be the capital of Alaunus: the city of Lamarou. Ever since the start of the Second Age: Lamarou had grown from the development of its forebears into a thriving centre of Alaunian culture, worship and trade between merchants and more entrepreneurial players within markets: ultimately, it was a sprawling metropolis of buildings that almost all of which; stretched at most - four floors high. The city itself was split into four different regions: each being divided from the Temple Of The Ancients into four differently-sized regions North-West (the largest), South-East (second-largest), South East (where Somor now was, and the smallest region at just 22 miles across) and South West (the widest but second-smallest); and each tried to maintain its own identity (through different product types and exports and imports of different regions and degrees of rarity being sold at each of its region-based markets, for example) whilst trying to combat the ultimate and recent realisation that all of them were pretty much the same in terms of what they offered. To the outside traveller - Lamarou was a sprawling, intimidating and unforgiving maze of white, yellow and grey stone and wooden-framed buildings, winding chalk and stone-covered streets, rivers and the bridges that crossed them, houses covered with vines and others not, town squares serving different purposes, pubs, clubs, restaurants, libraries, indoor and outdoor halls, political installations and venues, animal facilities such as zoos, parks, bumbling door-to-door salesmen, desperate prostitutes of both genders, 'press sellers', and commercial and non-commercial educational establishments; with efficient navigation all but impossible without the efficiency of a detailed cross-regional map and/or taxi carriage driver. At least, that difficulty of navigation remained till all regions converged in one place situated not right in the middle of the city (which would arguably be more convenient for everyone), but at an area gently easing into the South-East of the region.

The four regions amalgamated together - like the confluence of four rivers, at a tall and sprawling building situated right in the square that was the geographical centre of Alaunus - and it was called the Temple of the Ancients. It did not hold its location by coincidence: it was the centrepiece of Lamarou, and rightly so. For throughout Alaunus: pilgrims would venture across the sprawling fields between the kingdoms and the sprawling city to this temple to worship their beloved god, The Deity, and thank Him for how they had shaped their lives, as well as possibly seek forgiveness from high priests for divine sins they may have committeth whilst under His jurisdiction. The sheer power that religion held over the lives of the people of Alaunus all radiated towards, and from, to a certain extent: this one building. But that is not to say that it was intimidating. The Temple, despite its sheer height, was not intimidating, but rather its white marble walls and lone clock face-style stained glass window towards the top steeple served as a sign of eternal flowing calm against the storms they faced in life. The Temple was designed to be a house of the Deity, and one for people to feel safe whenever they felt that there was too much darkness, too much light, and overall a lack of Equilibrium and balance in their lives. There may have been smaller, regional, communal churches within the suburbs of Lamarou, but the Temple of the Ancients was the original - the supreme establishment that was open to all and intended to spread comfort and ease to all that entered it. But it is also important to remember that the Temple of the Ancients did wonders for Lamarou as a tourist destination: one mere editorial publication (spread even in one particular region) of a special service taking place in the Temple Of The Ancients, no matter how much it deviated from the original Deity's Teachings, would send demand for Temple attendances sky-rocketing, and hence, the revenue that the treasury of Lamarou would earn would be incomprehensible when compared to figures in other regions.

But Lamarou was not ruled by divinity alone. As with all kingdoms, Lamarou had a ruling physical family to ensure control over its populous, making sure that activities in the kingdom were not untoward in a way that did not violate national and divine law. Ultimately: the main aim of Lamarouish monarchy was all about image - reducing all possible extraneous variables that could lead to the public image of Lamarou being reduced across other kingdoms: through increased crime rates or lack of efficient public services for example. And common to most other kingdoms in Alaunus: Lamarou were ruled by a royal family and were not a republic - their rulers were the 35th King of Lamarou, His Majesty King Ghadra of Lamarou; and his Queen Consort of seven years standing: Queen Consort Fero of Lamarou. The respect that the Lamarouish people had for their monarchy was that of upmost respect: for they believed, and knew in their minds that their monarchy would work together with The Deity to ensure their kingdom would always get through the darkest of nights. At least, that was, until about a year ago. Public faith in the Queen Consort remained relatively strong, but popularity for the King had never been lower. For in the last year, almost overnight, according to many Lamarouish political analysts: King Ghadra had turned into a tyrannical, overly-frugal, adversarial bastard of a man, who took delight in punishing those who broke laws that violated Lamarou's legal constitution (although, strangely enough, laws that broke the Deity's Teachings often went unpunished from a royal-political level) and either imprisoning them or executing them, no matter how young or old. He made sure that he had employed personalities dejected enough, fierce enough and bullying enough to be his royal guards and enforcers of law around the city. Lamarou was not quite under the thumb of a dictatorship, but some citizens felt it was that if nothing else. And the situation was being exacerbated by growing problems within the sociology of the city - concerning the existence of two factions in a state of civil war: the LPG and the IEA. And that formed the main political argument among analysts for King Ghadra's removal from royal power: he had allowed terrorism to take root in the kingdom's largest city.

So for someone like Somor, at his young age, a commercialised city where individual differences were only tolerated on sporadic levels was not exactly the ideal place for him to be. But now he was. Somor found himself standing at a small junction between three streets: with the side of a typical Lamarouish stone house facing in front of him. Behind him there was a row of houses that were all together in a straight line, but to his left: there were two groups of houses, with a gap in the middle, that overlooked the embankment against one of Lamarou's most well-known Southern rivers - the Jenabe (pronounced Jen-ah-bay). And it was through this observation of these strange new surroundings, and the enjoyment of the light rain and silver sky that accompanied it, that Somor started to slowly walk across the streets of Lamarou for the first day.

As he slowly moved across the embankment, his eyes eliminated all other thoughts and concentrated on the detail around him. The golden-pointed headlamps that were not yet lit for it was still the morning (though Somor had no concept of time at this moment), the raindrops falling against the flowing teal-coloured river and adding to the dynamic shapes of the waves against the current, as well as how a lone man sailing a riverboat along the river was shaping the waves too, the sight of the promenade houses on the opposite of the river and how they merely looked like shadows from where he was situated, the intricate details of the chalk and stone that he now walked on, a strange stairway that went down to the side of the riverbank on the opposite side, which he did not understand the purpose of, the different details of the houses he was passing - their wooden and iron doors, shuttered windows and protectively-tiled rooftops, as well as looking at how the promenade ended to his left with a high stone and marble wall, and how the river appeared to go under a hollowed-out gap under a building bridging the two sides of the river, forever flowing till the point of its future confluence. Nobody was navigating the embankment at this time other than him, and it made it all the better for Somor: being able to observe these interesting, alien and exciting new surroundings. For that was the one thing that did not affect Somor now that most Citsituans were affected by (owing possibly to his military training): the prospect and event of sudden changes.

But Somor's loneliness would not continue for much longer.

Unknown to him, heading towards the bridge that crossed the Jenabe, was a middle-aged woman dressed in a silvery-white robe, wearing a similarly-coloured bonnet; and her name was Sister Losel. She was a member of her diocese in South-East Lamarou, and was also a multiple-subject teacher at the non-commercial educational establishment of Kolbinera House, that provided a way of life and education to fourteen orphaned young girls. The house had been founded nearly 20 years ago by one of the most well-recognized and popular citizens that ever existed in Lamarou: the "sapphire of the South": Lemda - who obtained custodial rights of all of the girls when at the same age, at the same time, to ensure they grew up together with a knowledge of family life as well. However, since Lemda's death it had been run jointly by her widowed husband Gojam and his new wife - the much less popular and certainly feared-by-the-girls type: the brutal Helga. Sister Losel had not been a teacher under Lemda's administration despite holding great knowledge and respect about her - but had worked there for the last four years under Helga's direction.

In a testament to her religious nature, Sister Losel had enough equilibrium in her to realise Helga was not a nice person, but to tolerate and accept her often unpleasantness when she needed to.

"Hurry girls, the rain is starting to fall, we must get across the bridge!"

"OK, Sister Losel!"

The shout of the fourteen young girls in her care came through the rain behind her, and dressed in bright yellow rain coats, with their primary symbols in the middle of them as icons, with their white outerwear school hats still exposed to the faintly rainy skies, the small children skittered along behind their mistress, trying desperately to follow her. As Sister Losel briefly sighed at how the glimmer of the grey stones that made up the bridge was continuing to wash away when battered by the elements on all days of difficult weather - without not much being done to repair them, she failed to notice the actions of one of the girls in her care on her right. For among the fourteen: there was one, who, despite not necessarily being the most notable one in the pack - was undoubtedly the bravest and the most courageous. At least, that's if you could call an 8-year old courageous. And whenever the little girls and their beloved teacher crossed this particular bridge (as they normally did on their way to the local zoo, which was only a few streets away from the other side of the Jenabe Promenade) - the bravest little girl had no inhibitions about jumping onto the open-stoned and unprotected right hand side of the bridge, start clinging onto the small headlamps that stuck out from the floor of the fencing, and begin pretending in her head she was a ballet dancer, reflecting it in her actions.

Her name was Eamin, and in terms of her appearance - she had long, elbow-length black hair that she was often made to tie back into a bow, and was, due to her age, merely small (around about 4 foot 1). Having been orphaned at the age of three after a terrible carriage collision killed her parents, she spent almost all of the fourth year of her life within a temporary children's home till being chosen by Gojam and Helga to be among the new group of fourteen girls that would be brought up at Kolbinera House. The aim of her obtaining a new family was not unfulfilled - and she was loved deeply as a sister by all the other little girls and to a certain extent, they almost idolized her. For she was the bravest, the most courageous, and would go to further lengths, push herself and do things that none of them would ever attempt to do. It was that fascination with the unknown that fascinated Eamin's young friends and 'sisters', and that was what strengthened their love for her, as well as the love that the other key young person in her life - Jemla, had for her. But the problem with Eamin's personality was that her recklessness, combined with her age: made her a little bit dim compared to her comrades. Her academic knowledge and motivation was scant and heavily depended on her mood, despite being the most socially articulate and aware of all her peers. As a result of this - it was very often that Eamin would not see the dangers of the situations that she got herself into.

Eamin's 'sisters' had noticed almost instantly their peer's attempt to win the Lamarouish Ballet Championships: South-East Regional Championship 647 on the edge of the Jenabe Bridge. But it was not until Sister Losel heard the girls' shouts of glee ten seconds later that she turned around: and saw the black-haired 8 year old's antics. At that moment, cold feelings of panic, worry, fright and desperation to calm the situation rushed through Losel like water from a waterfall, and she began to dash across the bridge, arms stretched out to grab Eamin from her position. And Sister Losel was very well-reasoned in her argument for the danger of the situation. Weather such as rain was indeed starting to wear away the stone material of the bridge, which lead to bits of it falling away and even dissolving. As well as this: the Jenabe Bridge's current got particularly strong during rain, and even though it was only a gentle drizzle today, it would still have a discernible effect... and the contact of water against the stone made the bridge itself quite slippery overall, and all the more difficult to traverse- with the most badly affected areas being that of the stones on the sides of the bridge. If Eamin lost her balance for just one, brief moment...

Sister Losel was just a few paces from reaching Eamin - when, after finishing her ending pirouette, Eamin began to lose her balance, but on the wrong side. And just before a desperate Sister Losel could grab her to safety - Eamin fell and landed head first into the flowing current. At that moment, the other little girls almost instantly realized what had happened to their beloved friend and sister, and they rushed to look over the side of the bridge, and amid cries of terror and confusion, they, and Sister Losel, could only wonder where Eamin now was, and whether she was still alive.

For Somor, the sudden change of environment had stunned him. On hearing the cries of Sister Losel and thirteen 8-year old girls on the bridge, almost everyone had either opened up their windows to peer out, or actually rushed into the light drizzle to see what on earth had caused the hassle; and unsurprisingly, the man in the riverboat on the Jenabe had even stopped his engines to turn and observe. The Kolbinera females had made quite a howl, and almost every citizen who lived on the promenade was now intrigued by the growing emergency. Somor stood frozen, in the middle of the right hand side of the embankment, wanting to know why he was hearing noises of curiousness and enquiry amid all other emotions. "LOOK! IT'S A GIRL!", shouted a middle-aged woman dressed in pink and grey clothing observing the situation from near Somor - and Somor, noticing where she was pointing, ran towards the woman to stand next to her, and soon put two and two together.

Eamin had not drowned, yet. Her head bobbed up from the water, gently being dragged along the Jenabe away from her screaming family. Eamin was desperately trying to stay afloat, flapping her arms and legs up and down in a bid to keep safe, but still floating on her back. The little girl could only think of trying to remain alive - her body functions were taking over her young head. But somewhere - deep in Eamin's head, a sense of horror was filling her - the knowledge that if she did not stay afloat, she would almost certainly die. Her life would be over. Gone. Forever. And to the equally horrified promenade locals watching the chilling scene - the sense of terror and urgency was written all over little Eamin's face. Briefly her eyes opened as if to pull pleading faces at the gradually disappearing figures of her family in the distance, hoping especially that her beloved teacher would get her out of this predicament, just as she had done in the past. Hope had not faded. She did not have time to hope anyway.

In the meantime, Somor continued to observe the scene from near the promenade - still obtaining enough space to maintain a clear view of the debacle. The woman who had first, albeit indirectly, brought to Somor's attention of Eamin's beginning struggle had by this time rushed back into her house and using her telephone, dialled the local emergency services to send help. Owing to the fact that their office was only about two minutes away from the area, and to the urgency of their dispatchment: it took them just thirty seconds to arrive on the scene. Eamin was now almost a third of the way between the bridge and the undersweep when they arrived, and was still managing to keep afloat. The two men, dressed in blue, had come armed with enormous fishing nets that would almost certainly be used to hopefully scoop the lightweight Eamin out of the water and onto the shore to safety. So they rushed past her family, still remaining in an epileptic state of terrified squealing and wailing - across the bridge to the other side of the promenade, opposite to where Somor was continuing to stand, and they reached the point where Eamin was soon to cross. The men bent down on the ground and with all their strength made downward thrusts with their nets towards the flapping little girl. Not looking down, they lifted up their nets.

They had missed.

Their failure to stop the 8-year old being pulled to her imminent death only heightened the tension all across the embankment. Somor could only stand, by now near the very edge of his side of the embankment, watching in a mixture of anger and astonishment of adults to avert the grim fate that awaited this poor, albeit, stupid child. And indeed, the man in the riverboat, who had his heartstrings particularly gripped by the scene, witnessed in agony the bungling of the emergency guards. And then, in an act of desperation: the yellow-dressed, grey haired, thinly-bearded sailor of the boat yanked free the rope of the lifeboat dinghy stationed at the left of the ship, and flung it like a two-handed boomerang with all its strength at the girl. The riverboat had stopped on the left side of the river, and Eamin remained dead in the centre. And unfortunately for the sailor: the length of the rope just wasn't enough to span its location and the centre of the river. Eamin continued to struggle. Somor, from his location on his side, could now only see in a mixture of panic and rising anger that Eamin was perhaps going to tire soon, and it would not be long until she was dead. And true to his fears, her arms were starting to stop flapping at such a rate. She was tiring. She was about to die.

Save her. Somor. Save her. You must now save her.

Somor suddenly felt an unknown force almost pulling at his heart. Somor could definitely feel it, its power growing every second he experienced it. But most mysteriously of all, his brain quickly associated the sensation with a voice in his head speaking those words- hearing the vocal almost disturbingly clearly. It was not haunting, in fact, it was an almost, soothing, comforting, caring voice, not one of urgency at all. Ultimately, it was mysterious on all counts. But the massaging nature of the command had somehow touched Somor somewhere deep within his body, and it convinced Somor, in his heart and his mind, what he must now do.

He was at the mercy of his shouting soul.

Deplete of almost all other thoughts, with his embedded knowledge of his military training back in Kenatria remaining intact: Somor jumped onto the fence of the embankment, and two seconds later, dived into the Jenabe. Powering into the air three seconds later, and beginning to be dragged along by the current - he quickly spotted Eamin at the centre continuing to tire, and began breaststroking with all his strength, with his mind firmly zoned in on the 8-year old and getting to her. All around the area, the heightened sense of terror and anxiety had reached fever pitch: another person in the river? Trying to save her? But she must be dead now surely... there's nothing that can be done... or is there? No question was as yet answered. Sister Losel and the other little girls, paralyzed with fear, could no longer see their friend and family member - she was merely a black dot amid the rainy horizon. And just before Somor reached her location, Eamin's body gave up, and eyes closed - she began to sink beneath the surface. Not losing track, and driven by this unknown yet conquering force in his heart and soul - Somor dived after her, grabbed Eamin by the scruff of her neck, pushed her back up to the surface and began to move her towards the small dock that was stationed in the middle of the current. As he did so, Somor did not feel at all exhausted by his endeavour, nor did he feel any emotion at all. No relief. No happiness. He had just saved a girl he did not know from a watery grave - and was pushing her to the only place of safety he had noticed - the dockway. And the current was giving in.

Therefore, Somor could not detect the sudden and dramatic change of mood that had swept over the Jenabe Embankment and Bridge like a tidal wave. Onlookers and residents previously wailing at the thought of the child being swept to her death were now cheering at her heroic rescue: at both the fact she was rescued and the actions by that unknown red-haired stranger, who didn't look like an adult either, that had led to her being pulled safely back to shore. But there were some who were not as yet sharing in the newly cheerful nature of the still drizzly scene - Sister Losel had noticed the dot representing Eamin being pulled to shore, but her heart and mind were unsure, as were the other little girls, of whether she was pulled back dead or alive. Her heart only wishing to know of her beloved Eamin's fate, she rushed off the bridge and along the left side of the embankment towards the small dock where Eamin had been brought to shore by her rescuer.

_**-KOLBINERA HOUSE, NOLEMBRAI CRESCENT, SOUTH-EASTERN LAMAROU-**_

As this was happening: the feared Helga paced up and down in her office at Kolbinera House, experiencing equal feelings of confusion and rising anger. The new boy that was being adopted into the house, Somor, should have been brought there five minutes ago: and Helga hated nothing more than the establishment not running to schedule. She wished such an invention was made to telephone someone as they walked along a street, without having to use a landline - but it would probably be hundreds of years before that was invented... and think of all the magic that would be used up... but Helga had no time to think more about that. The brown-painted plastered walls and pink marble tiles of the office, and the desk at the back of the room facing away from the window were probably getting very fed up with her by now. And it was as she paced around that her husband of eight years standing walked into the room.

Helga was a reasonably thin woman who also had very animated, unusual features, with eyebrows like those of a cartoon character, drawn on to her skin using pencil. Her hair colour was similar to that of her husbands', except that she was much more of a redhead (although it was gradually getting darker). The features of her face were very hardened, with even her wrinkles being in the most convenient of facial areas: presenting herself as a tough, strong woman who meant business. And indeed she was. One glare from her dark grey eyes could make anyone dare not cross her path, and her very professional look and demeanour immediately made people jump to accurate conclusions about her personality. It was certainly her who wore the trousers in this marriage. You only had to see them together for a few seconds to work that one out. Which was certainly true in this case. Gojam, her husband, was a well-figured man, with an interesting egg-shaped face topped by brown-red hair. He had a good-natured face and demeanour that always made him seem friendly even when trying to sound authoritarian, yet he was also quiet, loving and sensitive as a person. Certainly compared to his wife.

"Helga, what's the problem? You seem upset" Gojam enquired in a voice mixed with anxiousness and concern.

"Of course I'm fucking upset, Gojam!" Helga swore in her anger at Gojam's perceived ignorance. "You know the boy we were adopting from Kenatria who's supposed to be coming today? He's five minutes late! By five fucking minutes!"

Gojam wanted desperately to open his mouth and talk about how five minutes were nothing, but then he remembered how by-the-book Helga was.

"Can't fucking understand it, you'd think services that ran from Kenatria were reliable - but no, they're shit. I suppose they got one of their-"

BBRRING! BBBRRING! Helga was interrupted mid-rant as the black, golden-topped phone signalled someone trying to contact them. "Oh that fucker's gonna get it now" Helga panted, almost breathless in her growing anger. She picked up the phone, and trying to restrain her emotion, she began to speak. "Madame Helga, Kolbinera House" Gojam sat himself down in one of three white armchairs situated to the side of the office's brown oak door, and listened intently in fear, unknown to the strange, unconscious, small shaking movements he seemed to make every five seconds.

"Losel... why are you ringing me, Losel... did they... really? And, how's Eamin? oh thank The Deity. OK. And a doctor's.. on the scene now...? Good. Look, listen Losel... what? Somebody saved him? Who was that? A boy with red... a boy with red hair!" A thought popped into Helga's head as she listened to the still-shaken Sister Losel on the other end of the line. "F- Listen Losel, I want you to make sure someone asks him if he's called Somor, as we're expecting a young boy to arrive here today by that name and he has red hair and brown eyes... OK, I think you're still shaken, but this is important Losel. OK, see you back here, and I'll see Eamin too, I'll want a word with her when she get back. OK, bye" Helga took the phone and put it back on its hook. Gojam stood up.

"Who was that, dear?" he asked in a worried voice.

"No need to worry, that was Losel. Apparently Eamin's learnt she can't pretend to be a gymnast on the Jenabe bridge, and it might've been Somor that saved her from drowning. But I just... I just don't trust what's going on over there - Gojam, could you go over there and see what the hell's going on? It's only five minutes through the carriage"

"OK, will do, honey"

"Thank you" Gojam didn't really want to go initially... but then remembered what Helga said - Somor might be there. Somor was the boy that he had arranged to adopt into the family itself.

But contrary to what Helga believed - it was not a random choice.

Back at the Jenabe, the light drizzle continued to rain down on the promenade. It forever remained a pleasant rain, despite the events taking place underneath its sky being less than pleasant. And even the symbolism of rain could not spoil the rejuvenated moods of the onlookers of the events that day. It had now been ten whole minutes since Somor had saved Eamin from drowning, and a local doctor, dressed in brown clothing, with dark hair and glasses - had arrived a few minutes earlier to treat Eamin. He had taken her to the middle of the left embankment, and had been treating her for the bodily harm caused to her by the water and her inability to breathe. Now, a small crowd gathered around the doctor and the little girl wrapped in a teal cloth, including Sister Losel and a few other concerned locals. The doctor definitely, in his mind, had concerns about the assembled group - and what effect they would have on his performance with Eamin, but he didn't need to worry anymore as he felt himself say: "there you go Jemla, you are fine now. I suggest you go and rest now"

From a distance, Somor merely sat on the fence of the embankment, still in his wet clothes: watching the scene. He did not think of anything that he had just done, but instead observed the details of the houses of the promenade in front of him. It was now occurring to him that he was no longer home... in a different place... either that, or this was this new home.

Back with the crowd, the doctor's parting words and departure were met by the assembled throng as their cue to leave, and with sighs of relief and happiness, they returned to their daily business. Sister Losel's face beamed with a similar emotional mixture as she outstretched her arms, scooped up the little girl and held her against her breast. "Come Eamin, my poppet... we shall go home now. After all, the doctor says you need your rest" The faces of Eamin's sisters beamed with delight as they began to walk away: she was OK! But yet, Eamin's consciousness was still very aware of what happened, and she spied her saviour still sitting alone on the fence. "WAIT!" Eamin's loud shout brought Somor out of his trance. "Where is the boy who saved my life?" Eamin wreathed free from Sister Losel's maternal hold and ran towards Somor. "I must thank him! Oh little boy, come here!" Somor looked at Eamin, and could only stand as she puts his arms around him and embraced him. "Oh thank you, mister, thank you!" Eamin said happily as they embraced. Somor did not verbally respond, remaining mute.

All of a sudden, the two turned to their right to see that Sister Losel and the girls were walking back towards them - but this time there were two other men with the women who he didn't recognise.

"There he is, right there! Just walked off, didn't listen to me at all!" One of the men said. Somor gulped. It was the unfriendly man again.

"He can't help it, you know - he's Citsituan after all!" The other man's retort made all the females gasp. Somor wondered how they were able to know of his origins. The bigger looking man walked up to Somor.

"Are you Somor?" Somor had no choice but to nod. "My name's Gojam, and you're gonna be staying with us for the time being. It's funny actually you should run into Sister Losel and the other girls as they live with us too, as well as my daughter. But come home with me and I'll tell you more"

Somor smiled, at least now knowing what was going on around him. Even though change no longer fazed him that much - he still liked to know the order of events around him and why he was actually going through them: acceptance of a chaos theory wasn't good enough for the 10-year old. So Gojam, with a protective hand on Somor's shoulder, guided him through a 5-minute walk away from the Jenabe and through other streets of Lamarou - before reaching Nolembrai Crescent, the location of Kolbinera House, his new home.

Kolbinera House was a relatively large looking house, with it being obvious from the outside that a large number of people had to live in it. Despite its size, it only consisted of three floors and an attic, and there were more windows on the outside of the house than actual rooms. There were rooms devoted to education, as well as a dining hall, bathrooms and bedrooms for the residents; but the back garden that served doubly as a playground and allotment (a rather risky combination on face value) was actually bigger in size and scope than most of the rooms in the house. There was no real front garden, except for a wide yet narrow path that leaded to a big pair of iron double doors, and a lone yet tall tree standing proudly on the right. Indeed, it was a strangely-designed house and one that had to be lived in for a while to truly get a handle on and understand.

And in one of the bedrooms on the third floor - Gojam's wayward only child lounged around on her bed, reading a pamphlet publication that she had got from a local nightclub for people above her age. Her bedroom was the typical stone-walled (in a painted colour of blue), wooden floored, and downright messy bedroom of a rebellious young girl: and it was on her patchwork quilt that Jemla mused about how she'd be able to attend the gig of one of her favourite Lamarou rock bands: the Brethren Of Luna, without getting caught by her bitch of a stepmother and being grounded for a week. But then she realised she didn't need to worry about that at all - she still knew how to get of her house, or as she knew it, a prison, without anyone noticing. It was a feat she practiced on a regular basis.

Jemla was an 11-year old Lamarouish girl, whose reputation as a prematurely wayward and professional wild child preceded her. She originally had short yet volumized brown hair that curled up almost into the shape of a cloud pointing downwards, but had recently, in her partying manner - bleached it platinum blonde at a local hairdresser's. It was amazing what good service you could get through using money from your stepmother's purse. But as well as the exuberant nature of what she did - Jemla also hid a dynamic personality: a strong body for her age, a surprising degree of intelligence, and quite a fondness for animals. Overall, Jemla was a very difficult person to see through - it was near impossible, except for those who got almost too close to her, to see the real Jemla. Among the young she was great, and was reluctantly worshipped by the little girls under the care of Kolbinera House, and among the old, including her stepmother and the local authorities, she was a person in danger of going completely haywire. For often, Jemla's deviant behaviour at such a young age could be put down to the oppressive regime that she lived under, her regular forced interaction with her parents' business and her urge to just simply get away. And doing the things she did was the only way she could possibly do so. And being around people older than her had given Jemla a maturity that whilst, not quite at adult level, would surely be above other girls the same age as her. In both physical and mental ability: Jemla was not a little girl.

"JEMLA!" boomed her stepmother's voice from behind her door as it knocked. Reluctantly, and with a deep sigh, Jemla sauntered off her bed towards the door, and opened it to see her stepmother standing in her doorway, and looking relatively happy and pleasant for a change. "What is it?"

"Address me properly" Helga firmly retorted. Jemla sighed.

"What is it, Helga?"

"The girls and Sister Losel are returning with your dad. They're bringing the boy we've adopted into the family"

"Is he coming now?" Jemla replied in surprise. She was not aware they were arriving today, or the fact it was a boy. Could she finally be away from all these little girls for once by having a boy to keep her company?

"Well come down and see him - you might like him!" Helga said, and for once, her step-daughter obeyed her order. But as they negotiated their way through the various corridors, and down the staircases of Kolbinera House to the front parlour, a thought ran through Helga's head - _I hope she doesn't lead him astray... but I'm sure he won't. He'll have some degree of morals._ After the familiar six-minute descent in which Helga tried her hardest to maintain her good mood despite Jemla sliding down two banisters on the way down, they finally met up with the assembled throng below. All the young girls were getting changed back into their ordinary uniform clothes of red dresses and skirts, except for Eamin: who was sat by the fire, with her feet in a basin of water and a warm cloth wrapped around her head to combat the cold - with Sister Losel gently chiding the little girl - "from now on, I hope you will be a good girl, Eamin", and handed her a cup of coffee. But now, standing in the middle of the room was Gojam, with his hands on the shoulders of a wet, yet relatively happy Somor. "Here he is. Jemla, this is Somor. Somor, meet my stepdaughter and Gojam's daughter" Jemla and Somor took a moment to observe each other, before Jemla outstretched her right hand in a fist and said "hi", much to Helga's disgust, and remembering how that greeting worked when he was in Kenatria: Somor pulled out his right wrist and touched hers. "Well, a Citsituan who knows *it*", she said, withdrawing her hand.

"I know a few things" Somor retorted, sensing that Jemla was the type to practice banter on. And true to his prediction, the older child laughed. Jemla smiled. _I like this guy already,_ she thought to herself.

"I'm moving him into your room, Jemla... why don't you show him up there?" Helga interjected, with a slightly increasing hint of anger in her tone.

"Yeah, course. Come on, man"

Somor, with no belongings to his name, followed Jemla up the winding steps. And as they walked - Jemla could not be happier at the thought of finally having someone close to her that she could actually, click with. Even if the guy was a year younger than her, he could still be the younger brother she dreamt of. And not an annoying one either. "I'm sorry about the steps, it's not my fault! Blame Helga" Jemla shouted laughing, showing her usual sense of humour.

"Thanks for caring about her" Somor replied, remembering the banter that took place among the Kenatrians at the military training. "And I wouldn't worry about the steps; I'm used to it back home"

"Where are you from?" Jemla turned around and asked him, curiously.

"Kenatria"

"I guess that's why you speak robotically"

Somor laughed.

And as they walked towards Somor's new room and Jemla's bedroom on the third floor up the continually winding stairs, the talking and laughing Jemla and Somor could not hear the chaotic scene going on below them - thirteen young girls silently sobbing for their friend Eamin, who herself was loudly crying in Helga's office - for Helga was caning her for not listening to Sister Losel and for behaving recklessly. But that was the brutality of Helga's nature, and this was surely being a lesson that Eamin would never forget: to stop being so reckless and be as good as her sisters.


	3. Day One

_**-SOUTH EASTERN LAMAROU, THE PRESENT TIME-**_

From that day that Somor had moved to Lamarou, life changed in general for himself and those around him to fit almost, naturally. People had grown up in his area of Lamarou without feeling any notion of drastic change as a result of the Citsituan boy's arrival. In fact, people seemed to overlook the fact he was an obvious immigrant whenever they were around Somor - but that was possibly because he did not hold enough of the 'Citsituan' traits at his current stage in life that other boys of his ethnicity had.

Over the four years since he had arrived in Lamarou: Somor continued to live at Kolbinera House with Gojam, Helga, Jemla, Eamin and the thirteen other young girls who Eamin called 'her' family. The girls had all now matured to twelve years old, and were no longer 'little' girls: but were still very good, and disciplined, and in the words of Helga: 'gradually turning into polite, graceful Lamarouish ladies'. But Helga could not say the same for her own step-daughter or to, a certain extent, Eamin.

For four years on, Jemla, now 15, had not lost the superficial haircut, or the wild child status. And true to Helga's fears: it had seemed to only get worse as she rose in status from the apprentice of the teenagers and young adults who she partied with when she was younger to being one of the crowd she aspired to be in. In truth, not much about Jemla's persona had changed - except she was now ridiculously tall, about 6"2 in natural height, sometimes making herself look even taller with the clothes she wore, with an even better body than she had when she first met Somor. The younger girls living at Kolbinera were now beginning to resent her party lifestyle as they themselves matured: but yet still considered her an older sister when she wasn't being 'deviant' - for Jemla held a lot of common sense and a pleasant, down-to-earth and supportive personality underneath her wild demeanour. But the problem was - Jemla was wanting to distance herself more than ever from those orphaned twelve year-olds - because she'd felt she'd reached a stage in her life when she just wanted to be free. There was nothing for her at home. Nothing had changed. She rarely, if ever, got to speak one-on-one with her beloved dad, her relationship with her stepmother was now practically non-existent, and she lived in a home that just didn't fit her personality. She had now learned too much about life outside that front door to really appreciate it in whatever she could. She saw no hope of ever speaking to her father again, and was now caring less and less about everything to Lamarou - including the law. She didn't hold a defeatist attitude to life, she just held a defeatist attitude to her life - and was using all the partying and possible deviant behaviour as an antidote to fill the deep hole that her lack of home support had given her.

But there were still two parts of home she did appreciate.

And they were Somor and Eamin. It was only their company sometimes that made Jemla come home at night. In terms of Somor; over the four years they'd known each other, the two newly-deemed siblings had fast become close friends. Somor would always be by Jemla's side when pulling a prank in the marketplace or other place of community, they would always go to her favourite clubs together, go into the fields together looking after the animals, as they were both great animal lovers, and whenever they were in their bedroom - and Jemla felt down and near tears, she would spill her guts out to the Citsituan in her room as to everything wrong with her. And often, Jemla surprised herself at much she confided in and trusted this boy. But that was because she felt Somor was not a judgemental person - and didn't fear him judging her, as opposed to other people that she knew" though sometimes she knew she deserved it. But as well as that, he was always more of a mirror than a brother when she talked to her - reflecting the emotions he was seeing... a listener, waiting for Jemla to finish before giving his response. That was what Somor ultimately was. A listener. The quiet voice in the group talking who would only speak up at the critical moment. That's what Jemla loved most about him. And that's what his other friends loved most about him too. And another thing - Jemla respected anyone who was their own person, someone who had their own unique quirks but could still push through and be a nice person outside of that and didn't care about other people's critical thoughts - a totally independent person who could be alive and dead to the rest of the world. That truly, at this moment in time, was Somor.

But the limitations that his Citsituan origins brought him remained to this day, as well as the advantages.

And then there was Eamin. Eamin, now 5"6, whose childish recklessness had nearly cost her her life four years before - had unfortunately, in some respects, and to Helga's disgust - not really changed that much in terms of personality. But that wasn't to say that she hadn't remained unchanged. Eamin had indeed matured like the rest of the little girls - and probably owing to her bravery and comparatively higher life experience, through being around people like Jemla and Somor, was actually the most adult-like of the fourteen girls in Helga and the Kolbinera staff's care. She was in the perfect position to provide sensible, adult-like judgements on situations, and she was articulate enough to put her ideas across in conversations in a way that people felt they could and should understand. And as well as that - Eamin was a brave person. If one of her friends was in trouble, Eamin would step in and save them. She often thought back to the day Somor saved herself from the gentle yet deadly current of the Jenabe - and now believed she could do the same thing for Somor if he ever needed rescuing. In fact, there were very little limitations to Eamin, as she maintained a consistently positive demeanour - almost being able to instantly spot the good things in a situation that did not appear to be ideal - which was a trait that she had learnt over the years from watching Jemla and Somor. In fact, it was the combination of bravery, common sense, and the ability to recognise when someone was trying to manipulate her, that made Jemla consider Eamin as a younger sister in every sense of the word, more than any of the other girls at Kolbinera. Obviously, the limitations in age and differences of levels in adherence to the Kolbinera regime, or Helga's regime, meant that Eamin could not do all of the things that Jemla and Somor did at night-time for example - but that did not stop her from joining her older peers in being a common hinderence or rare help as part of the Lamarouish youth machine, to the rest of the community.

But they were the reasons that Jemla slept in the same bed that she had slept in all her life almost every night for the last two years - and why she ultimately felt the need to push through all the temptations to run away from home and never come back. And Jemla woke up one Friday morning: the 16th of September 651 SA. She started writhing around in her bed - feeling the patchy yet soft bedclothes against her legs as her brain gradually emerged from the land of dreams: and now began the ridiculously difficult task of opening her eyes. Jemla always liked to wake up early and see the sun rising over the horizon of Lamarou - which usually meant getting up towards 7 o'clock or 6:30. She didn't really do that much yesterday apart from stay in the fields ensuring that her rabbit friends in the surrounding hillsides were alright, so she would not be in a position to sleep in. And manoeuvring her long legs out of her bed she saw the clock: 6:30 exactly. Jemla smiled - she hadn't lost a minute. She calmly walked across her blue-stoned bedroom to the wardrobe - her bare feet making the floorboards creak as she did so. Opening it - she removed her fashionable black sleeping underwear and pulled on a white ladies' tunic, black knickers, long black tights that accentuated the length of her legs even further, and fashionable black female boots, she then went to head to Somor's bed on the opposite side of the room and wake him up. But then she stopped as she realized that, as was the case but on rare occasions, Somor's bed was empty: he must have got up even earlier than she had. Nodding and smiling at the same time, Jemla left the wardrobe door open and headed out of her bedroom.

As she walked through the long winding corridors of Kolbinera House: it dawned on Jemla that the other girls were not yet awake. It was still a week-day, and the girls were still in full-time education: so this would be another day of learning and discovery. Jemla had withdrawn herself from the Lamarou Education System due to simple lack of interest about seven months ago, four months before her 15th birthday: and in truth, Helga was just waiting for the day that Jemla turned fifteen so she could kick her out. No-one really knew the reason why she'd been allowed to stay on for another three further months - for Helga was the boss of this establishment and was the one that directly wanted her out. No-one ever dared to question her judgement. So what was she bowing down to in this case?

Anyway, reasoning that Eamin and the other girls would not be up until 7 o'clock, she finally found herself in the house's front parlour - and, grabbing an apple from the wooden fruit bowl always placed on a dressing table strangely placed at the top of the room, she then walked up to the great front door, and out into the world of Lamarou. Jemla sighed as she first stepped out on her walk. It was a relatively chilly morning, despite the brightening blue, orange and yellow colours of the brightening sky above her, and a slightly cold breeze blew her unbrushed blonde hair gently back. But she wouldn't let that stop her. Jemla never really felt the cold - and even if she did, she never let it show. In truth - Jemla didn't really care about how her body felt about anything, and would always push herself to the absolute limits no matter how hazardous the environment was. So a chilly morning wearing no outerwear but a tunic was nothing to this girl.

It would certainly not prevent her from heading to Denash's house.

_**-COPEL ROAD, SOUTH EASTERN LAMAROU, A QUARTER OF A MILE AWAY-**_

Lamarou's terrain was mostly flat: but various hills and ramps had been designed to make certain streets slope downhill and curve around the white and orange stone buildings of the city, just to add that little bit more variety, but at least 70% of the city was flat. And in addition, Jemla didn't have a fear of getting lost on the way to the house of her closest friend: having lived there all of her life, she knew very well the way the city looked on a map - and memorised the routes to all the areas she wanted to go to. And that was the thing: if you lived in a relatively niche region, you would often not really need to know where to go - for local districts had their own attractions that made you not want to venture into other areas at all. On the 1500m walk to Denash's house, against their rising sun, Jemla passed washing lines being hung early out of windows, cobblestoned roads where horse-drawn carriages were being carefully guided, people opening their shops for early morning business, and some even closing having finished catering for anyone on night shifts, which were mainly royal guards on sentry duty. Finally, Jemla arrived at Copel Road, a flat and cobbled road consisting of about five three-floored townhouses on either side. But Jemla was looking for the one towards the far end of the road on the right hand side - for that's where Denash lived. Calmly, Jemla walked up to the wooden front door. Jemla waited five seconds, and then a latch towards the top of the door opened sideways - and a pair of brown eyes appeared. "Yet again, you beat me to the punch" the voice came from behind the door.

"The day'll never come when you beat me" retorted Jemla with a smile on her face. Suddenly, the door opened - and Denash appeared: wearing a red buttoned jacket, trousers and burgundy boots with a maroon top over a jacket - a slightly less trendy outfit than the one Jemla happened to be wearing. Jemla followed Denash into her house.

Denash had been living on her own since she first arrived in Lamarou at the age of nine, her origins unknown: and had first lived in this house with a group of party and substance abusers who lovingly called this house their 'pit'. Needless to say, the house was more like a commune than a home - and the nine-year-old Denash quickly had to adapt. But within three years, all were either dead or in prison, and Denash was left in the house by herself. Through hard work, perseverance, and scamming tax forms so she could appear old enough to own her own home at the age of twelve - she tidied up the messes in the house and made it relatively more habitable to live in. It would never be a palace, but it would still be home. It was a narrow house - but appeared larger due to the number of floors. A kitchen and a dining area where Denash cooked were in the room on the ground floor, then up a ramp not too far in front of the entrance door was a lounge and bathroom - and Denash's bedroom was on the top floor. It was conventionally decorated - stones of different colours embodied in almost golden cement on all floors, with wooden floors and ramps. But what distinguished the house's decoration was the series of posters and pieces of tiny abstract art put on to the walls on each of the house's three floors - it was definitely a young person's home.

And as for Denash herself, she was a tall girl of about 5"10, not quite as tall as Jemla; but her presence compensated for her height. She had long blonde hair, and an intriguingly thin, long, strong-featured face with brown eyes that could appear equally appealing and intimidating. For her age, she was independent, quite fearless, but it was all in defence. Denash was, described in four words: a very defensive person. Even Jemla admitted at one time to Somor that all the words she spoke were said in order to keep her emotions in check. And that was because Denash was incredibly emotionally vulnerable person on the inside - daily battling the hurt she was enduring from leaving her childhood home, who she never told anyone where it was, and the abuse she suffered at the hands of the residents of the house when it was a commune. Such events would leave mental marks and scars on any child: and Denash was no exception. But nevertheless, throughout the events, she believed she kept seeing her dead mother, the beloved Tehan, in times of dire need - who kept telling her to fight on, as she was a fighter deep inside. And it was through that that Denash kept her life going, but not without constructing an emotional shield as hard and as intricate as a diamond, and thought for a second about every response she would give in conversation before she gave it. Around strangers, Denash came across as a professional and guarded person, almost like a businesswoman - but made more of an effort to be a relatable person around her friends, and through their understanding they accepted Denash's obvious attempts to protect her ego. Ultimately, the two girls' close friendship was down to Somor himself: one night, three years ago, when Denash was contemplating suicide at the age of twelve, she and Somor met by chance in one of the most well-known parks in South-Eastern Lamarou, and, after that one, hour-long conversation, Somor had convinced her that she needed to increase her social interaction more, having withdrawn herself almost to the point of no return. And then, within a few weeks, Somor introduced her to Jemla, and the independent, adventurous, fearless, and tendency to be uncaring about norms and sometimes life in general, all appealed to Denash. And it was also through Jemla that Denash developed her characteristically dry humour.

"Anything you wanna have before we go out?" Denash enquired, walking towards the kitchen as Jemla flumped down on one of the dining chairs with her apple.

"Yeah, maybe a soda, cheers" Denash reached into one of her ice-boxes and pulled out a strawberry soda, plonking it down on the table in front of Jemla - who laughed when she saw the strawberry icon and the word 'BEST SODA' on the front.

"Well I'll sue if it ain't that good" proclaimed a slightly laughing Jemla; Denash smiled as she sat down.

"Crap name... but it's really great, I began buying them three weeks ago, I thought you could like it" Jemla unscrewed the top, tilted the bottle to her mouth and began to drink. Six seconds later, she put it down again on the wooden table. "Yeah, great taste but… pretty good overall. I'll still sue though"

"Great" Denash replied, sarcastically"

"So are we still on for RQP tonight, Den?" Jemla asked her friend as she walked back into the kitchen to get her own drink.

"Yeah, I'm still game. I've heard there's some good talent on tonight - Somyoh Jump, Professor Albri, and best of all - TuTyU" Jemla rolled her eyes. "You don't listen to kids music when you're 15, Den"

"It's better than Soko Bullshit, or whatever it's called" Jemla didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the way Denash was mocking her guilty pleasure: Soko Bokshot. "BOKSHOT! BOKSHOT! I LOVE THEM!" she yelled through a laugh, and both girls chuckled as Denash sat back down on the opposite side of the small table with her apple soda.

"So, where's Somy?" Denash asked.

"Nothing much has changed. He got up earlier than me though, he might be at the fields" Denash put her bottle down.

"We should probably ask him if he wants to go out with us, even if it's practically suicide for him to go"

"That's what I'm thinking-" Jemla took a drink and put it down again, "of doing. We've just gotta be careful with what clubs we all go to, Den, you know what happens when the carrot top blows off" Denash shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah but it's not like he's never been there before, it's not like he doesn't know the place..." Denash's voice was injected with a slight giggle. "...besides, the guy's tougher than he looks"

"Yeah" Jemla replied. "I'll go look for him after we finsh these off"

"I'll come with" Denash suddenly produced her signature wry smile. "You think he's frolicking with the animals again?"

"Hey don't knock it, buddy, they're people too, you know!"

_**-SOUTH-EASTERN HILLS, LAMAROU-**_

Meanwhile, in the flowing fields and hills that had gradually been allowed to flow out of the fortified kingdom, and not far from the promenade, the 14-year old Somor was enjoying the company of a beautiful light brown horse with a chocolate-coloured mane. A thin yet healthy-looking beast, at least, until it had met Somor. The horse, called Holla by her owner, a member of the royal guards, she was enduring recent stress following the break-up of a mile away from Nolembrai Crescent, and the owner had been struggling to keep herself sane. But finding it in the field that morning: Somor had worked his usual magic, and through his innate understanding of the animals' feelings and understanding the language of the horse, he had established a friendship and connection with Holla that had managed to restore her equilibria to bay. She was standing now at a small lake surrounded by light green grasses, on a hill, in a truly picturesque scene over-looking the sprawling kingdom of Lamarou. She proceeded to take a drink from the water, and once she did so, shook her mane proudly, and a smiling Somor made a strange sounding tone with his voice that made the horse lean her mane against his head - in a true gesture of thanks of love. They pulled their heads away from each other, and Somor briefly touched the strings of the feeding bag just beneath its neck. "HEY!" A voice suddenly sounded from their left - and Somor turned around to look. A royal guard, dressed in the shining silver mail and red tapestries of the Lamarou Army walked up the hill towards them; his helmet off, showing his short dark brown hair and white, slightly tanned skin against the sun. "Is this your horse?" Somor asked, with his happiness still maintained in his voice. The guard walked further up to them, and smiled. "Yes it is. She was in a right state before, she's not like it now"

"She needed a bit of time I think... away from war. But you have taken great care of her, she's a beautiful horse"

"Thanks. And thank you for taking care of her"

"It was no problem"

"Alright, I'll take her on from now. Holla - follow" The horse obeyed her master, and the two happy creatures began to walk away from the scene. Somor smiled and walked back a little further away from the lake to sit against a row of trees that lead into a deeper range of forest. It made him feel good in his heart to talk to those animals and make them feel OK - they were like his friends. But it never upset him, although sometimes a little, if things did not always go the way he wanted to for them: because he had learned to accept the way that life around him worked, and sometimes, there was nothing that you could do. That was the nature of equilibrium after all.

Now at the age of 14, the red-haired, brown-eyed Somor had truly adjusted himself to life in his new kingdom of Lamarou. And not just by the fact that he had not cut his hair once during that period, allowing it to grow extremely long, with his fringe still exposed. Through his understanding and acknowledging of the individual differences of other cultures and people, which had somewhat been deprived from some people in the kingdom, and slightly more outgoing nature he had gained through his years in the Kenatrian Youth Military: the change of life did not faze him in the slightest. By this time, he had made the transition from Citsituan to Kenatrian that many boys of his ethnicity would not be able to accomplish until at least their early twenties - and it was often impossible to detect that Somor wasn't Lamarouish: other than through his non-native accent or moments of anguish. Somor still struggled with the tones of noises and disorientating crowd situations, as a Citsituan of any age would - but apart from that, there was not much else for him to fear. And growing up with people like Jemla, Denash and the girls of Kolbinera certainly helped him to achieve premature independence, for he had the best of both worlds: social independence from Jemla and Denash and mental independence from the education regime at Kolbinera House. Having secured early the high-level educational qualifications that 15-year-olds achieved in their last year of school, known in Lamarou as General Education Qualifications or GEQs, through the use of visiting private tutors and taking independent examinations, he was now free to live in whatever way he wished: but under Lamarouish law, he could not leave home until his 15th birthday. Not that he really ever recognised his home. To him, home was merely the place he slept - ie, he and Jemla's bedroom, or occasionally the other spots they would sleep under the Alaunian skies at night.

The other thing that struck his friends was Somor's inner mental strength. He was able to, within his heart, balance out the quirky nature he had with social interaction - and was able to bounce off possible insults against his equilibrium better than any other person he knew. But this was ultimately down to his military upbringing, and being a Citsituan: Citsituans tended to have one-tracked minds, and Somor's one track was that of a chessboard. His natural thinking was akin to that of a military tactician. Although, Jemla sometimes wondered whether it was because he didn't understand the connotations of his insults. There still had to be holes in his cognition - there just had to be. But Somor wasn't making them easy to find. And Denash secretly idolized him - Somor almost certainly had a backstory, as did all her friends, but how was he able to cope with everything going on around him? Could he truly be at the perfect point of human equilibrium that nothing could penetrate his soul? He could not be, though he would not admit it himself. His 'chessboard mentality' arguably made him one of the most defensive people to walk around Lamarou.

And there was another thing. Somor never talked about himself. Ever.

And then there was his animal interaction. Somor and Jemla had always shared a common bond for loving animals - but Somor, definitely the more academically-inclined of the two, had studied the works of the great Citsituan animal philosopher Maru - and the way that she talked and analysed the thoughts of creatures in his environment. He had learned not just how the emotional patterns of various common creatures worked from damselfly to donkey - and how to communicate with them through vocal tones. Through gradual rote learning and self-teaching, Somor was becoming close to mastering the 'Maruian Art of Animal Communication', and often specialised in helping and manipulating the wild life within the city. He equilibrated horses, talked with damselflies, played with donkeys, cared for snakes, healed birds, conversed with spiders, assisted bees and served as somewhat of an arbiter for queen wasps. Gradually - Somor's activity with various animals had started to reach the attention of the Royal Guard and other important services in the country, and whilst understanding they couldn't force Somor to act as an institutionalised vet, for that's not what he was, they would gently leave their horses or useful animals in the position to where that boy could speak to them. He was considered a marvel by those in the military who knew him as a result, not that Somor ever noticed. And the guard who rode Holla was the latest to become a fan of his.

Somor's communication with animals was ultimately down to two things: he always considered himself as part of the rhythm of nature mentioned in several theological works, and he believed that all living creatures were equal, and should be interacted with in the same way. It was possibly this that made Somor the indiscriminate and neutral person that he was - just seeing creatures for their differences without judging them, and recognising the needs of different methods of communication. And finally: it gave Somor an opportunity to be outdoors, and there was nothing Somor loved more than being outside, and experiencing nature and being part of its rhythm. So that explained why Somor would spend the next half-hour lying, hands behind his head, against the set of trees on the surrounding hills of Lamarou. In fact, with his eyes closed - it looked like he was going to sleep.

"GINGE!" Somor slightly jolted from his position, and then saw Jemla and Denash walking up towards him - Somor stood up. "Hi Jem, hi Denash"

"Hey" Denash replied.

"Healed anyone yet?" Jemla asked, prompting a laugh from her friend.

"A horse belonging to one of the royal guards. Beautiful thing - lovely mane"

"Oh, I never knew you cared?" Denash jokingly interjected, lightly touching her hair. Somor laughed.

"Are you saying you are a horse?" Denash instantly realised the mistake she made - and Jemla looked like she was going to collapse to the grassy floor in laughter.

"NO!" Denash happily shouted. Thirty seconds later, once the intense laughter died down, Jemla regained her composure and spoke to Somor.

"Somy, are you up for some action tonight at R.Q.P., we thought it'd be a good night to go - good bands going"

"Yeah, I heard about the line-up. I'll go. What time does it start?"

"Den?" Jemla, not knowing the answer, turned to her friend.

"I think it's 8, or something"

"Sounds perfect. About the normal time, is it not?"

"Yeah. So, if you're done with your healing practices, I fancy goin' down the market, you know, maybe finding something we can grab"

"What? While no-one's looking?" Somor quipped, making the girls laugh.

"You make me sound like a bad person…" Jemla jokingly cried, before the three teenagers then happily walked away from the trees and back down the paths on the hillside leading back into the town - now awaiting the night ahead of them.

_**-MASEORTI STREET, EAST SARPESIA, LINVERIA, JUST UNDER TWELVE HOURS LATER-**_

It was coming close to 7:30 in the evening in Sarpesia City, the capital city of the South-Western kingdom within Linveria. Sunset was falling against the buildings, and made the viewing of the buildings all the more beautiful as the sunlight was reflected off the stone and wood of the houses.

In Linveria - Sarpesia was known as the resort city, the tourist destination of the kingdom. It was an unusual thing for kingdoms to encourage tourism - as many liked to keep their own arts and individual natures to themselves, but Sarpesia was natural in its foundation but not on what was above it. What ultimately made Sarpesia unique were the long flowing rivers that ran directly through the kingdom all the way to the ocean or blue mists that occupied where the Sarpesian land finished. In terms of what was within the city - it was a mixture of winding streets of tall stone townhouses and grand designs of architecture used for everything from tourist trade to communal services - such as concert halls and theatres of religious worship. And also, in a different way to other kingdoms such as Rimahus and Phidella, the royal headquarters and main centres of political affairs were not kept towards the very North of the kingdom, overlooking the land: it was placed instead at the very centre - to make it more relatable to the residents of Sarpesia and the tourists who came there. And that was after people had experienced the casinos, pubs, markets, parades, gondola rides, and hot air balloon rides over the city.

But there was a bad corner in every delightful neighbourhood - and in one of the slightly more 'derelict' streets in Eastern Sarpesia, a contributing factor to that bad corner was about to go over their daily business. The house was not unlike many of the townhouses in Sarpesia, at least, until you walked inside it. There was nothing on the ground floor, nothing on the first floor (not even a floor), but there was a meeting table and sort of dining table on the second floor, and sleeping bags on the third. The residents were living in absolute squalor, but they didn't care. For they had a lot of money to get themselves out of the situation. After all, they were responsible for robbing carts carrying money used in business transactions running between Pargui and Sarpesia - intercepting them on horseback, robbing the money, and using their strength to carry the token (used currency) notes back in their feeding bags.

And now, on the second floor and surrounded by their three burly bodyguards: the leader and genereal hothead Jeori was sat at the meeting table with his mathematically intelligent yet socially dim associate Delin. Jeori was waiting in excitement at the right hand end of the table to wait for Delin to conclude the counting and make a total. "210... 280... 330" Delin was moving notes from a left pile to a right pile to count the notes. "380...440... 500... 550...590" Jeori's eyes widened, and the burly yes-men standing around the room now knew the coming reaction.

"Is that it?"

"Er... I think so" Delin replied, slightly quaking in his voice but not looking at Jeori in the eyes.

"Oh for Deity's sake!" boomed Jeori, banging his fist on the table. "I thought transaction coaches used to have more than that - what's wrong with us now?" Delin didn't quake any more or any less at Jeori's angry reaction. It might have been due to the fact they were used to Jeori's outbursts, as he was ever the hot head.

"We've just gotta find another way, I guess" Delin managed to say through a disappointed sigh. Jeori stood up and began to pace around the room. "But we shouldn't! Something is not right - we had 900... we normally get 900 or 1000 tokens, and what is this! Half! We're lucky to break 500! We've a business to run! Urgh..." Jeori sank back down at his chair, bowed his head slightly and rubbed it. "Colaj, get me another drink"

The bodyguard standing at the door to the stairs to the lower areas of the house began to move towards the 'kitchen' area of the room. "...not from there, the drinks cupboard I have in the corridor" The burly blonde man, dressed in black, walked away from his initial target and headed towards the door. Opening the door made of decaying wood - he headed out into the bare-wooded, bleak lower interior of the house, and made his way down the creaking stairs that were truly riddled with woodworm - they could not last much longer. He was heading for the platform halfway down that section of the stairwell: where a secret panel in the wall lead to a room full of special ales and drinks that Jeori used to smuggle to other gangsters around the Linverian kingdoms as an additional source of revenue. Another ten seconds later - Colaj reached the panel and stood in front of it preparing to open the wall. Colaj opened the panel, and all of a sudden, a figure in the doorway took the butt of a crossbow and crushed Colaj's skull - and the big man stumbled backwards, collapsed over the woodworm-ridden stairrail, and his body collapsed to the ground floor.

As Colaj made his final journey to the wine panel - the conversation between Jeori and Delin continued. Calmer heads were now prevailing, or so it seemed. "Delin, we won't give up. I just need to trust sources a bit... less. Had I know Sarol would screw me on that location I never would have asked him"

"Lesson learnt?" Delin replied. There was a long silence.

"You betcha" Jeori replied.

FLUMP!

"WHASSAT!" jolted Jeori, rising from his chair as if it were in flames. "It came from the stairs, check down there" he ordered to one of the other bodyguards.

But the sound of Colaj's crunching fall had been a signal to four other strangers on the roof of that disused house that it was time to enter. And at that point - the burly yet young Medav, the small yet fiery Larex, the athletic youth Morda and their charismatic olive-skinned leader Dolan. Dolan used his hammer weapon to break through the glass light of the roof: and they jumped down into the sleeping quarters of the top floor of the house. But as they did so, Jeori heard the events and unleashed his next order.

"Kolso, head upstairs there's intruders! Delin, stay there"

In the corridor where Colaj fell to his death, the bodyguard Solos was fighting with his colleague's assassin, a tall, striking figure dressed in an almost theatrical black hooded jacket. Solos launched an uppercut at the figure but they jumped backwards down the stairs, which Solos prepared himself for. Relying on his brute strength as his biggest weapon- Solos lunged forward and tried to grip the figure with his arms in the middle - but the figure was all too prepared for Solos's method of attack. They leaped into the air while Solos was crouched down and landed straight on their head, and the burly bodyguard fell to the ground, knocked out. Meanwhile: on the third floor, Kolso dashed into the room and was now fighting Medav, who was standing in front of his colleagues. "KILL HIM!" Dolan shouted from behind. The two had their swords drawn (Kolso had one concealed at his back) and were triyng to gain an advantage over the other in that slim doorway and eventually into the sloping stairwell back down towards the second floor. The fierce sword skirmish carried on for another thirty seconds, before the tiny Larex dived forward onto the stairwells, rolling under Medav's lesgs and reached for Kolso's chest, stabbing him in the heart with her dagger. "TAKE THIS!" a feminine-sounding voice sounded from below - and at the back of the room, Dolan recognised the voice. "Downstairs, now!" he ordered, and he and his minions dashed down to the second floor where they saw Delin cowering under the table crying and Jeori lying stabbed in the middle of the room near the meeting table. The leader walked slowly towards the black hooding figure as they removed their hood - and a slim woman's head with beautiful, long flowing black hair appeared from the shadow. "You did a good job there, Hanso" Dolan commended, referring to her by name.

"Thank you" replied Hanso, in her softly-spoken voice.

The invaders were the law enforcement group in pay of the Parguian government, known as the Golan Group - not named after its self-assured, charismatic leader out of self-indulgence, but rather out of the government being able to tell which group was which (they were not the only faction of their kind). Four of its five members had all been trained from birth to work in the fields of war, and had been manipulated at such a young age that their mind consolidated to shape their field - their minds knew nothing else but the instincts that came with war. This was their life. The battlefield was their home. Events that would traumatise the strongest of men would not faze these young people in the slightest. But the problem of that embeddedment was simple - if there was no sign of war to be found, they would have no reason to live.

But there was always the one exception to the rule. And that was Larex, a girl small in stature with long hair platted into two pigtails that lay down her chest. She was not an orphan, but in fact a runaway: the daughter of intelligent but strict diplomats from the Northern kingdom of Milexa, and possibly due to the upper class nature of her upbringing - Larex came across as a spoilt brat, who never liked to be contradicted and believed that her viewpoint was the right one in any situation. But although the Milexa couldn't be taken out of the girl, the girl could be taken away from Milexa: and she had run away from home, always the eager adventurer, wanting to see if the swashbuckling tales of her relatives, who were also ambassadors, were as true as they seemed. She had been away from home for over a year now, with search party after search party failing to catch up with her - and showed herself to be a shrewd and fearless adventurer for someone of her young age - for she was the youngest of the group at just 11 years old. She wondered the kingdoms of Linveria alone until she ran into the group one day during an excursion in the field town of Meau - and impressed by her fire and promise, Golan recruited Larex into the group. Now, she served as sometimes the voice of reason, sometimes the voice you wanted to gag.

And then there were the other members. The leader Golan was a young man of 23, originally born in Phidella but orphaned at the age of four. Through several careful years in Pargui's military academies, he had risen to the rank of Troop Leader - and was a confident, yet cool, calm and self-assured one at that. He was a very articulate man, who knew how to keep his team in check and improve its performance. Deep down, his high position meant more to him than anything else, but he had the strong self-discipline to not let it show. That was his main skill - he was a person in total control of himself without appearing to be so. There was also Morda, a girl with long blonde hair that she slicked back in a ponytail behind her ears; a girl of 14 years of age who actually came from Sarpesia initially, but from there, after being abandoned by her uncaring, alcoholic parents: was recruited to the youth military. Now: she combined her free spirit and bright attitude with the professionalism of a soldier who would go to all lengths to get the job done, which was the reason that Golan kept her in the group. Medav was the second oldest and only male in the group, and at 19 years old, like to think of himself as having more maturity than he actually had. That's not to say he was a liability. Medav, as a soldier, was brilliant - his skills and precision with all types of weaponry, and confidence in the heat of battle could only make it an advantage to have him. But socially, Medav was not a very likeable person: at least - to the girls in the group. Medav was a pure chauvinist, constantly believing that men were superior to women in every way, including intelligence and military capability. It was not unfounded: Golan had noticed, from Medav's confiding with him as leader - that Medav, born in Phidella, had been abandoned by his mother towards his fifth birthday and was raised alone in a male-only household, and he always held deep resentment for the fact there was no mother figure there to take care of him. It made Golan's opinion of him not change when Medav made inappropriate remarks that reduced the relationship within the team - but Medav always held a deep resentment that the number of females outwayed the number of males.

And finally, there was Hanso, the 14-year old vice leader of the Golan Group. A striking young woman despite her age and stature (being 5"7), she had a natural, narrowly oval-shaped alabaster-skinned face and equally pale and thin yet athletic body, with long black hair that went down to her hips. Her hypnotising green eyes often were enough to turn any man to jelly, and that was often her main weapon when it came to their jobs - especially when liquidating womanizers. But her powers of physical and mental seduction were as strong as her physical and mental strength as a fighter - she had responded more than any of her peers to the rigours of the training she endured in childhood, and was superior to all the other team members, even the older Medav: justifying her position as vice leader. But that possibly owed to the fact that she had been a mercenary longer than her non-leader peers, for she worked as a Junior Mercenary in another group from the age of nine until the assassination of its leader three years later, before being recruited by Golan, who had now been her new boss for two years. She was a softly-spoken person, but knew how to use words to her advantage - and would often wait until everyone finished what they were saying in conversation before they said her piece. Deep down, Hanso held the burning fire and sheer ferocity of a warrior; as well as the skill of an accomplished orator, and therefore had the capacity to be an inspirational leader in battle. Needless to say, when it came to fighting, Hanso was the last person you ever wanted an opponent. But like her best friend Morda and her peers: without war, she was nothing.

"I wouldn't call it great. But it was great for a girl, though", the brown-haired, blue-haired, pale-skinned Medav replied, with a sly smile on his face.

"Better than you'd ever do, Medav" Hanso softly retorted.

"Enough, you two. OK, we'll need to find a phone and use to it to contact our mates at the P.P.D. We'll be out of Sarpesia by tomorrow"

"Phone's over here" Larex immediately walked over to it, took it off its station and began to press the magical buttons. As he watched Medav and Morda walk over to the meeting table and pull it up to find the quivering Delin, Golan could only smile. Another job completed to standard.

_**-RQP CONCERT 'HOUSE', NELTO STREET, SOUTH-EASTERN LAMAROU-**_

Within the stone walls of the R.Q.P., tonight's concert was in full swing. The building which consisted of a small reception room, a massive room bare of any other furniture other than a medium-sized stage at the front for the performers, and a few toilets stationed in rooms to the right of the room; was packed to the brim with at least 1500 Lamarouish youths hoping to enjoy a night of excitement, magic and most importantly of all - the ale afterwards. For Jemla, Denash and Somor - strategically placed to the bottom right of the concert's audience, nearest the toilets; it had been almost a night from heaven. So many good bands, an electric atmosphere, songs that ripped from all the attendance every emotion that was possible - it could not be better. And now, one of Denash's favourite bands, TuTyU (who Jemla had made fun of Denash for earlier that day), made up of female singer Risel and her three backing musicians, were performing a fastly-paced anthem backed by her almost operatic yet rugged vocals, accompanied with powerful drum beats and the performance of one of the most skilled violinists in all of Lamarou, and one of Somor's favourite musicians: the Great Ritch.

"Dance... dance to the power of my heart... -" Before Risel could finish her final note, the crowd - the three teenagers included, burst into tumultuous applause and cheers, showing their appreciation for another arguably perfect performance from tonight's headline act. Once the applause started to die down- Jemla turned to Somor, standing in the middle of the two girls. "How you doing, Somy?" 'Somy' was the shortened name that Jemla affectionally referred to Somor was: and even though Somor didn't usually like the derivatives, especially ones sounding like they were intended to mock, he didn't mind it when it came from Jemla. Because he knew the sort of person that Jemla was.

"GREAT! Wooop!" Somor replied, getting into the moment. Punching his fist into the air, he prompted applause from the tens of people directly around him. Jemla smiled - his friend was alright. All of a sudden - the crowd were starting to fall comparatively silent to when they were before, because Risel was making an unprompted speech.

"I've got another song coming up... and I hope that's not a terrorist I see in the back of that crowd..." Risel pointed her finger to the crowd, but in the opposite direction to where Jemla and her friends were standing. "...because if I find out there's a bastard from the LPG in here tonight, you have no idea what I'm going to let happen to you - cos first of all I'm gonna ask the crowd to tell me-" Jemla looked over at her friends in confusion. "What's she on about?" Denash and Somor looked over there.

"That guy over there" Denash pointed to a man in the back row who appeared to have a small red stripe on his clothing, indicating his allegiance to the terrorist faction Lamarian Patriots Group - which could be easily identified by his position under the candle-lights above for the audience.

"It's not subtle, is it?" said Somor, slightly lamenting the man's presence.

"Don't tell him you're Citsituan, buddy" Jemla jokingly replied, turning again to her friend.

"I'm keeping it quiet!"

"...normally happens is they clear off and leave you by yourself, and then I get all these men, including my own bloody stage crew, to come find you, take you outside and fuck you up like you've never been fucked up before!" Half of the crowd were thrilled, and half were starting to become terrified. They never, ever saw Risel this angry, and everyone can hear the fury in her voice increasing - and two of the three tall and tough bouncers in the building were now on stage, adding their menacing presence to the already changing atmosphere of the concert. "I'M GONNA GET YOU MOTHER-FUCKING FUCKED UP!" Risel yelled at the peak of her anger and the top of her voice. Jemla, Somor and Denash looked around at the back row, as the audience members of the back row were beginning to move towards their position - they were doing as Risel was instructing to do, and the LPG member was starting to know what was going on. "Everybody, if you see that patriot fucker I want you to move away from that mother-fucker because you're gonna fucking start freaking out right about now!" By the time she finished her sentence, the white-faced, terrified LPG member was in full view of Risel and the stage crew, as well as the audience in position. "Are you the fucking LPG member, you? I bet you don't feel so fucking big and mighty now - feeling you think that racists are welcome during my concert! I bet you're fucking pissing your pants right now! You think it's cool to be a child-killing bastard?" Risel then prompted to her crew and pointed to the young man at the back. "Alright see that man in the black jacket in the red stripe, I want him fucking out of here right the fuck now. RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!" Almost confused applause and cheering erupted in the arena, and the two imposing men made their way off the stage and barreled their way through the audience. The teenagers could see the man desperately trying to escape through the front door, seemingly forgetting the doorman was waiting in front of the double doors that lead into the building. He was cornered. Five seconds later, the drama was over and the bouncers disappeared. "OH... MAN, DRAMA!" Jemla shouted, with a smile in her face - always the one to relish moments like that in concerts. "I guess they're *trying* to tune up now!" Denash replied, her eyes remaining fixed on the stage.

"It's been a long time since that drama's occured right, ha-ha!" Risel seemed to be calming down almost instantly in her voice, almost with all anger and negative energy in her spent. The atmosphere was quickly buzzing. "OK I'm just gonna tune up - oh shit-" One of the stage hands unleashed a magic spell that continued to modify the technomagiological mechanisms above the stage that amplified the stage sound, but unfortunately, owing to their inexperience, had conjured the spell slightly incorrectly: and a loud and unpleasant white noise suddenly sounded across the room - making a lot of the audience cover their ears, with one of the exception being Denash, who wasn't really fazed by those sort of noises. Neither was Somor, but this wasn't pleasant white noise. This was very harsh white noise that could only result from a badly-cast tuning spell. And remembering her experiences with Somor in the past, and noticing the noise she looked down to her left at Somor. And suddenly she swung into action. Somor was kneeling on the floor, hands clamped tightly on his ears with his long arms covering his head. "JEM!" Denash shouted at the top of her voice among the crowd, but as her friend had her hands over her ears, she could not hear. Denash knew she had no choice. Looking down again, Somor was slowly starting to shake. The noise briefly went away but then came back again as another mis-spell took place - and it was more unpleasant than ever. He could not help but react negatively to the auditory horror unfolding all around: there were many things he could handle now in life that he previously could not, but such noise was an exception to the rule. Denash made a fist of her left hand and gently prodded Jemla, prompting her friend to turn around. Jemla mouthed 'what?' and Denash prompted her to look down. Jemla's eyes widened slightly in fright, looking down. Somor, who just a minute earlier, had been jumping around with the other party-goers and being bright and happy, was now passed out on the ground as a result of the noise. Jemla and Denash both knew the dangers. That was it - they had to get him out. His body would have suffered a great toll from the increased heart rate and his brain's attempt to shut down his body to deal with it. Forgetting the unpleasant noise, and trying to combat the feeling of worry that was starting to trickle into her body, Jemla bent down and gently put her right hand on Somor's shoulder - and whispered "Somor?" Denash prompted her to stand up. "I'M GETTING HELP NOW!" Denash now had to shout as TuTyU's next song was starting, and the audience was beginning to become loud again. Denash made her way across the crowd and intercepted one of the bouncers who had just come back from beating up the terrorist - and Jemla could see Denash through the other crowd members talking about the bouncer. They began making their way across the crowd. Somor was motionless, and not moving at all. All of a sudden: Somor started to shake and quiver again - and his eyes began to flicker open. Jemla smiled in her head, as she knew he had to be waking at the right time. No hospital trip was necessary. "There he is, sir" Denash said to the bouncer, now at their location, and pointed at the struggling man. "Alright little man, let's get you up" The strong bouncer effortlessly lifted the fourteen year-old onto his right shoulder and carried him out of the arena, with his two friends following him out. Strangely enough: Jemla and Denash were more concerned than worried about their friend - for this sort of thing had happened to him before, they had seen it before, and were used to deal with it. They knew exactly how to sort Somor out: and unfortunately, it was on these rare occasions that their Citsituan friend's body decided to conk out.

Two minutes later, Jemla and Denash were standing outside of the house as Somor sat against the wall, slowly regaining consciousness. "Urgh... girls, what the hell happened?' Somor regained his senses quickly, as well as his memories. '…as if I don't need to ask". He looked, and sounded annoyed.

"Your heart gave out Somy, we had to get you out" Jemla expressed, in her signature fashion.

"Oh damn, I'm sorry girls, I know you wanted to see them more, and, so did I, to be honest" Somor looked at the long-haired girl with a look on his face eminating anger and regret.

"Oh that's fine – the headline act has a reputation for being shit so it's no big loss, for me, not to see 'em" Denash reached down to Somor, gripped his left arm and pulled it - pulling the boy to his feet. "You guys need to go home. You too Jem - I'll leave you when I get back to my place" Denash said to her friends, all three of them now standing in the street.

"Alright, let's go home, peeps"

And so the teenagers' night ended, but not in the way they wanted. Denash and Jemla, especially Denash, should have been furious, but weren't. And the first time it ever happened, Jemla was. But then they learned from Gojam and Helga about Somor's 'problems', and they quickly adapted themselves to be on cautious watch for signs of their friend's anxieties. For anyone else it would be a challenge, but not for Jemla and Denash. Because for some strange reason - it felt like a family member they were dealing with. They knew quickly how to deal with those sort of people... in fact, it was almost innate. It could have been because the majority of the people that Jemla knew, and ultimately wanted to know: were the off-beats who had some defect that gave them problems with life. They were not the norm, and could never be.

But on the other hand, it could have been the intelligence that both girls hid in equal measure. And it could have just been part of the spirit of friendship that bonded the three of them.


	4. Day Two part one

_**-KOLBINERA HOUSE, THE FOLLOWING MORNING-**_

Ten hours after returning from the debacle at the R.Q.P., Jemla and Somor were ready to face the following day with no negativity within them. Somor recovered very well, as he always seemed to, from his panic attack, and Jemla was ready for another day of fun. And she sensed that today would be even better as she could let Eamin in on the fun.

Unfortunately, Somor was not going out today due to him volunteering to help Gojam and the servants clean the house while the girls and Jemla were gone. Jemla had absolutely no idea why.

Today was a Saturday - and since the girls of Kolbinera House had turned 12 years old: the staff allowed them to have a free day as individuals to explore the South-East region of Lamarou at their own means - for they were judged to have obtained enough independence and maturity to handle themselves in those streets until they had to return for dinner-time. And anyone that didn't return, under Helga's rules, would be severely punished. And that made the girls only the more punctual. Unless your name was Eamin - who had been on the receiving end of that punishment before. More often than not - the girls would often stick together anyway to ensure that they didn't lose track of time: for one girl would always keep an eye on it. But once Eamin started hanging around more with Jemla than her sisters - Eamin never really used that strategy that her friends used.

There was an unapologetically cloudy, grey sky over Lamarou that morning - and the local church bells had just stopped ringing for nine o'clock. Nevertheless, there was hardly any wind or chill in the air, unlike the day before. There was no need for outdoor coats to be put on - although Jemla was dressed less like a Lamarouish fashion model today: wearing just a blue jacket with brown overlaying top, black trousers and grey old-fashioned boots. Sister Losel was standing in the doorway communicating to her girls as they headed out of the front gate. "REMEMBER GIRLS, BE BACK AT 4 O'CLOCK SHARP FOR DINNER!"

"Yes, Sister Losel!" shouted a group of five who were walking out of the door. Jemla and Eamin began walking towards the front gate from their position near the door, ready to depart.

"Hey Eamin - you wanna go to the market today?" Jemla asked, turning to the smaller girl.

"Of course Jemla, unless you get up to any of your tricks" Eamin replied with a smile. Jemla chuckled.

"Me? Tricks? Anyway, I wanted to know-" The girls stopped and Jemla bent down and began to loudly whisper in Eamin's ear. "When we're there, can I tempt-?"

"GASP!" Jemla was interrupted mid-sentence by Sister Losel, who began running towards them, holding up her dress.

"No, no, young Eamin! Never accept a dare! Dares can be dangerous!" she cried, in a mixture of authority and worry - her arms folded. Jemla wondered in her mind how on earth the woman was able to hear what she was saying at that volume. Eamin sighed. "It's OK, Sister Losel, I'm not doing any of Jemla's dares"

"Hmph!" Sister Losel said, departing back towards the doorway. Jemla resumed her walk towards the gate and Eamin followed.

"Now, where was I before..." Jemla turned her head in the direction of Sister Losel and shouted "...BEING RUDELY INTERRUPTED!" Sister Losel narrowed her eyes at the teenager. Jemla turned around and resumed, knowing in her heart that she wanted to dare Eamin to do something - no matter what she thought.

"Jem, I'm not going to accept your dare, no matter how fun it is! Dares can be dangerous!" Jemla rolled her eyes - _you can take girls out of Kolbinera but can't take_ _Kolbinera out of girls_, she thought acidly to herself. She turned to the smaller girl and widened her eyes to develop a pleading look. "Oh come on Eamin, you're a junkie for dangers... and you know I'd never get you into places that'll hurt you, so come on... please, what do you say?" Jemla said in a begging tone. Eamin knew that Jemla was trying to mock her, but sighed. She didn't think she had a choice. "Oh alright" Jemla laughed, dropping the facade and Eamin managed a smile. As they stepped out onto Nolembrai Crescent, Jemla spoke again. "Right I fancy heading to Dresco's first..."

_**-CASTLE OF LUNARIS, EAST SECTION, FOUR HOURS LATER-**_

There was no other area created that could appear to withhold such a sense of gloom. Of seriousness. Of rigidness. It was strange how a place of such gothic activity & seeming darkness could be in such a divine land. But that was what the castle looked like on the inside. A series of dark, interconnected rooms and corridors, with black walls and black floors, torches of blue and red fire... a massive complex that controlled all divine inactivity. Not just in Alaunus, but in the other two parts of the planet. One of them was an area that some people in Alaunus did not want to associate themselves with. The Kingdom of Linveria.

But there were those who knew their way around this large, sprawling building. And they were the Servants of the Deity, whose roles befitted their grand title. They were the administrators of the world, controlling the spiritual lives of those in the material worlds of Alaunus, Linveria and the Merchant Islands... and ensuring that Equilibrium was in order. Such an important thing... there had to be the right balance of light and darkness in the world. This was not to be a world of pure good or pure evil, otherwise The Deity could not operate as a spiritual power, and the foundation of the planet itself would be threatened. But there was another danger: the person who those fighting for 'good' feared the most. The person who had created the newest danger facing The Deity's beloved creations... and it was the Servants who had to stop it.

The black-caped and clothed Tehan continued her walk down the seemingly never-ending corridor. She had many things going through her head, as usual, concerning what she had just heard in the meeting that she had had with other Servants of the Deity, which her best friend was the head of. And now she was going to find other associates who didn't go to the meeting to gossip about them with - to get them out of her system. For what was the way that Tehan dealt with an over-combustion of issues in her mind. She had her own ideas of what was going on around her at this point, and she knew that if her theories were correct, they had to succeed. At any cost.

Tehan was a woman with a cropped blonde haircut and brown eyes of a doe, who looked slightly prematurely aged, but maintained quite a spritely and youthful personality. She was one of the few people who maintained a mixture of piousness and joviality, which her friends believed was a testament to her social skills. Yet: the happiness people saw was actually a weapon used by Tehan to contain her own sorrow - for she had possibly reacted worst to the hard transition between normal life and life truly under the Deity's service: and often the words that came out of her mouth cheered herself up as well as her friends. If it were not for her humour: there would be not just an emotional conflict within Tehan, but a gridlock - the desire to remain pious against the desperation to return to her Kenatrian lifestyle. In the fight or flight, Tehan would be able to do neither. Indeed, it was a very narrow shelter against stalemate. And those closest to her knew it.

Eventually sensing she had got to the right place, Tehan opened a door dug into the wall, gripped the handle tightly and pushed it open - the doors in the castle were heavy and not easy to open. Once she did, she found herself in a small room lit with green flames that was bare but for a small table in the middle where two other black-wearers were sat at the table: Lemda and Dason. The two looked up as she entered, and smiled at her as they entered the room. They were obviously friends. "Hi" said Tehan in her usual happy-go-lucky style.

"Hello" Lemda replied.

"Hi" said Dason.

Lemda was a woman 5"11 in height, with black hair tied back into a bun who looked incredibly striking in her black robe - almost like a widow, forever wondering the hills in search of the light that could help her cope with the loss of her lover. But that's what she was in fact- someone who had lost their life and wanted it back. Her dramatic appearance surprisingly not match her personality, however - for she was a very calm, pious, assured individual with a fondness for doing the right thing for people and helping the poor, the sick and the aged- which she daily practised when she was still alive as a resident of South-East Lamarou. To those who met her, Lemda came across as a very intelligent person, a listener, someone who always mirrored the emotions facing at them. To sum her up in three words - a talented counsellor. Unfortunately, upon her death and recruitment to the Servants Of The Deity she had to change her priorities - and upon becoming aware of the way in which she departed the world and her new situation, and the new situations of those she left behind: she found herself having to mediate a conflict between her inner desire against those who were distorting those she loved who remained in Alaunus; and her religious nature to forgive. And it was only in recent weeks that she was starting to get a handle on that. The counsellor had to become counselled by her leader.

Dason, on the other hand, was a Kenatrian man with an attractive, athletic build, but with a very mature yet fierce personality which had benefitted him a lot in the thirty-one years he had been alive in Alaunus. He had dark brown hair with a slim fringe at the front, pale skin and dark blue eyes that many of his friends back in the material world, including his cousin and twin brother, said could seduce any woman with one glance. They were charming eyes... seducing eyes. But Dason was never a charmer or an upstart. He was a quiet yet professional young man who relished being a nobody... being an ordinary man living an ordinary life. Dason's biggest strengths as a servant Of The Deity were his maturity and strong intelligence - as it often brought a lot of sense to a situation that otherwise would be deplete of it. But there was a lot of angst that he was daily fighting to keep within him: and that only made his position as a Servant Of The Deity an ideal one - he was a studier at heart: he wanted to answer tough questions, he wanted to work for the future of the planet, and ensure that other people would have the legitimate right to live in that future. But also - Dason held a strong determination, like Lemda and the other Servants, to regain the life he had lost, and would do everything to ensure he achieved that goal.

"Have you just got back from briefing?" Dason enquired.

"I have indeed. The army have made good progress, and they'll be at Pargui tomorrow" Tehan replied happily. Dason smiled.

"And- what about my brother?" Dason muttered with a slight shudder despite his smile, as he always did when talking about the person he loved the most. And both Tehan and Lemda knew exactly who Dason was referring to.

"Well they've made their way into the world - and they'll arrive at their destination soon"

"Good" Lemda sat silently at the table, watching their friends talk about the recent events. Lemda silently regretted in her head over how she didn't attend that morning's meeting, chaired by the leader of the Servants - but then she remembered she had to watch over a growing issue in Arnola: concerning the cult who had tried to reawaken a formidable enemy. But then she regained interest in the conversation taking place near her as she noticed Tehan turning her head to face her.

"Lem - I don't know if you think about this in the same way that I do - but... do you think Moyjo is a bit... different lately?"

Lemda slightly nodded. "I've noticed a difference, yes...' she replied, '...but I think it's because of what'll be happening tonight" Dason now looked up at Lemda, avoiding a look of confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, Moyjo's going to give the Arbiter their powers tonight. And, my daughter's apprehension is nearing soon - you know all about that" Dason felt a twinge of fear. You never knew who would be listening with the threat the castle was facing.

"Shh... keep your voice down" he whispered.

"Hang on" Tehan replied. She stood up from the table, turned her back to face Lemda and fired a spell at the top-right hand corner of the wall. The spell revealed an invisible, spherical purple 'spying orb' of Dark Aether that quickly disintegrated.

"They're everywhere now" Dason said, in a lamented sigh.

"It's OK, we can continue" Lemda proposed, sensing Dason's growing anxiety.

"You were saying, Lem?" Tehan asked.

"Well Moyjo is a little apprehensive, I think, with the issuing of the powers. Because he knows who it is, and well..."

"Who is it, Lemda?" Dason enquired, kicking himself slightly at the thought that crucial information was about to be shared - even with the destruction of the spy orb. But Dason had nothing to fear.

"Sigh... well I can't say. But I can tell you that the repercussions and implications of the powers he's having to give away - no-one in their position's ever wielded such a title before" Tehan, with a slightly confused look on her face, turned away from a second - but then faced Lemda again.

"Could it be... is it who I think it is?"

"Hmm" Lemda replied, discretely nodding. Tehan looked away, feeling enlightened, her face lit up.

"Well that explains a lot" she replied animatedly. Dason let out a joking sigh.

"Stop it girls, you know I hate it when you do, secret talking" he uttered, switching his neck when mentioning 'secret talking'.

"Oh sorry, Dason!" Lemda replied with a slightly laughing smile.

"But you know we're gossipers Dason - gossip, thy name is woman!"

The three friends laughed.

_**-ALBER'S SQUARE, SOUTH EASTERN LAMAROU, TWO HOURS LATER-**_

Alber's Square, one of several Lamarouish marketplaces operating on Saturday, the market day, was buzzing. Three o'clock in the afternoon was their peak time and today was no exception. There were over fifty stalls crammed full of items. And because there were no full food-quantity shops in South-Eastern Lamarou, possibly owing to its small size as a region, it was virtually an open-air rush on Saturdays for consumers to get into markets to get whatever they wanted. And all the chaos happened within the five or six market squares within the region, all dotted around different compass points of that part of Lamarou. For about three days a week, but Saturdays the most frequent, traders and sellers of all different kinds of goods, services and commodities, would arrive to shift their stock. Water, bread, milk, potions, fruit, pamphlets, even carriage tyres, all sorts of things. Around the flat-roofed stone buildings that enclosed Alber's Square, stalls, some sheltered and others open-air with a seller and carpeted ground where their stock had just been plonked - were being met with a hive of activity. One of the baker sellers, Kimlo, was busy selling his produce, as no less than thirteen people tried to jostle their way past each other just to get their product , with three of them being noticeably overweight - adding to the nature of the destruction derby. He was grabbing products from the range he had on offer with one hand, holding out his other hand to get the money, storing it in a pot underneath the stall and then repeating the process over and over again. Kimlo, approaching the age of seventy-one, sometimes wondered why he had not had a heart attack at his age as a result of all the activity. But it could be worse - he could be a member of the Gremiian army.

With a piece of fruit pie in his right hand, he held out his left to a rotund woman in front, who already looked like she'd had her lunch. "That'll be 30 tokens, please, dear!" The satisfied woman handed over the money, thanked the man and barrelled her way back out of the queue. Now, a thinner woman with short red hair approached her. "What can I do for you?"

As their brief interchange began, Kimlo did not notice that the two bulges on the canvas sheltering his stall were rather human-like. And as well as this - he did not spot the hook on a string as was slowly being dangled further and further towards one of the baguettes. If he had looked at his stock earlier, he would have noticed it quicker.

"Two baguettes please" the woman replied in a half-shout.

"Coming right up" Kimlo turned to where his stocks of baguettes were. There was only one left. A look of confusion flashed on his face and then noticed the moving bulges on the canvas - and instantly realised what was going on. "STOP, THIEVES!" he shouted, as he spotted two figures jumping diagonally from the canvas to the rooftops.

On one of the flat roofs, Jemla stuffed the baguette in the back of her jacket, with Eamin standing in front of her. "RUN!" Jemla shouted, her voice indicating the relish that she got from experiences like this, but also the urgency of not wanting Eamin to be caught through her actions. Eamin's mind blocked out whatever fear it had of apprehension by the guards, and started running at top speed.

"I don't see them..." A police guard said to the flustered baker back on the ground, standing in front of the stall, but then he heard the shout of his colleague at the other end of the square.

"The roof!" The guard pointed upwards to where he could see the two girls running across the rooftops of Alber's Square, about to depart for the rest of the buildings. At that moment, he blew his whistle.

"RUN!" Eamin shouted at the top of her voice, spurring Jemla, in front, to run even faster. And so the chase began.

On the ground, the same guard who blew his whistle now began to negotiate the roads below to keep track of the route the girls were running across. They were lucky that this area of the South-East was covered with flat-roofed buildings, for if they were of the normal shape, then this strategy would be useless. They'd just slide off the stones and be injured, or possibly killed if the landing went wrong. For forty-five seconds, the two made consecutive small jumps across roof-tops, but looking below - Jemla could see that the guard was still keeping up with them - they were still in his line of vision.

"Let's take a different route!" Jemla ordered, and she changed her direction due left, with Eamin, just as strong a runner as Jemla - following. Within fifteen seconds, Jemla smiled in her head, noticing she could no longer see the guard. They had tricked him.

She was still balancing worry and enthusiasm.

Meanwhile, about two rows of houses to the left, there stood a guardhouse - a very discreetly decorated house that was often used as points of street-wide surveillance for the guards of Lamarou in case they spotted any untoward activity. It was completely alike to the other stoned houses in different shades of yellow in that road - except for the people who lived in it. And now, from the large window on the top floor of the house - that more resembled a tower than anything else, a guard now observed two figures jumping across the nearby rooftops. And they had to have been to do with the blowing of the whistle that he could hear from that great a distance. Springing into action, he rushed to the right-hand side of the room, where a wooden cupboard of different weapons was kept - and he took out a crossbow with a net attachment: one used to snare criminals as they moved. That is what he would use now. Five seconds later, he moved back to the door. They were about to head directly in front of him now. He aimed his bow so the targets would pass his trajectory in five seconds. Eamin was now running in front, and had overtaken Jemla. But then, as they began to pass the window - Jemla noticed the danger. "EAM!" Jemla yelled at the top of her voice, stopping Eamin in her tracks. The arrow fired a milli-second later, splaying itself in front of where Eamin stood. "AGAIN! GO!" Eamin resumed her run and Jemla followed. Frustrated that his plan failed, the guard went to the right hand side of the room and began to use the other source that was stationed in it. A telephone.

For another three minutes - the two girls, not slowing down for a second and without any hint of exhaustion, jumped and leapt across the rooftops. It was now clear in Jemla's mind that they had to get home. That was the only safe place they had. There - they would elude the guards as Jemla would always do, and blame someone else. For this wasn't the first time Jemla had pulled this type of prank. But it was the first time in a while she had been caught: and at her age, she knew the price.

Jail.

"JEM!" Eamin shouted, and the two girls stopped. A castle guard was now climbing onto the red-tiled flat roof they were now standing on, anger in his eyes and a predatory climbing style to match. Eamin's eyes remained fixed on the guard as Jemla started looking around for places to escape too. "HERE!" Jemla pulled at Eamin, and then proceeded to jump off the roof, straight onto the nearby balcony of a three-storey house. Eamin, despite her heart starting to tell her to give up, blocked out the feeling and she made the leap of faith successfully, and made the jump to the next balcony without thinking. But Jemla remained where she was - and whistled at the guard, prompting his jump. In that short time, Jemla un-pegged a large piece of white cloth being hung on the house's washing line from the balcony, and before the guard could grab Jemla on the balcony, the white cloth fell on him and Jemla made a swift exit after her friend. The draped guard could only stumble around, before nearly falling over the side of the ledge.

Jumping from balcony to balcony then bouncing off another shelter canvas, Jemla and Eamin now found themselves dashing down a familiar looking cobble-floored and brown-stoned alleyway. Jemla began to realise that they were nearing Copel Road - she remembered that alleyway from various trips back home and walks to nearby concerts and clubs. She knew Denash would be home - but there was no time to wave at her.

For Jemla, this whole experience could not be better. To her - this was a dangerous, and therefore delightful game: for it gave her the burst of adrenaline that she always yearned to experience - that added to the thrill of the rushing winds of the rooftops and running against the gales that in general gave her that standard feeling of exhilaration. She was what you could call an 'adrenaline junkie'. And the fact that they got caught doing what they were doing almost seemed to add a sense of adventure and further adrenaline that she hadn't got before when her pranks went smoothly, i.e. undetected. Jemla loved to break the rules, break boundaries, and go to emotional places that no-one else had the courage to travel. And often, as the 15-year old had found: the only way you could reach that temporary nirvana was to break the law - so she had no qualms breaking it when she felt she needed to. Her brain did not bother to think of her companion Eamin, and the possible pangs of regret that the younger girl may be consciously feeling by taking part in such an action. And it could have very well infiltrated Jemla's mind near to that moment - but her understanding of character reminded her of one factor to Eamin. She was a courageous child, no matter how strict and by-the-book her upbringing. And another thing, Jemla had no fear of arrest - she had been in jail before, and knew how to escape. It was all just one big joke to her.

In other words - the law was a big joke to Jemla.

True to Jemla's earlier predictions: a minute later, they passed the street and Denash's house - unknown to them that Denash had heard the commotion and was looking out her window. From that point: Eamin could hear the sounds of metal chinking behind her, and gulped as she ran: there were guards coming after them now from behind. Jemla briefly looked behind and saw the danger - three of them now chasing her. "HERE!" Jemla saw another alley on her left and ran down it, and Eamin followed.

But then Jemla realised her mistake.

This was not an alleyway. It was an actual street where three secret, underground 'party' venues were located, all directly competing with each other for revenue. And Jemla's heart slowly began to sink as she saw that familiar, tall wooden-fenced dead end. All she could see was an upturned box and what looked like two tall wicker barrels originally used to store spare alcohol. But she couldn't be caught. She couldn't afford to be. Knowing that the fence, even with her height, was too high to climb over, and without thinking of any else - Jemla ripped open the top of one of the barrels and jumped into one, fitting in it perfectly. The lid, still hanging on, was grabbed by Jemla's hands and put back on top. There was nothing now but darkness.

And for another thirty minutes, that's where she stayed. Jemla did not understand why she hadn't moved - but she probably went to sleep for a brief moment. But she also imagined the scene. Those guards would look all over the place to find their target. It surely wouldn't take this long to find her or Eamin, would it? It was probably safe. Pulling a deep breath - Jemla punched open the lid of the basket and put her head out of the lid. Looking around, she saw no-one. In fact, the place almost looked as if it had been not explored at all. The guards surely would have had to have come down this route. Surely. But it didn't look like they had. Every object in the vicinity would have been overturned. But the box remained upturned, no secret doors were opened and the other wicker barrel remained seemingly untouched. Jemla reasoned it was probably safe to come out, but she had to be on careful guard. She climbed out, and slowly, with the baguette still stuffed down the back of her jacket, and began to make her way back up the alleyway. Finally reaching the intersection of Copel Road, she avoided turning right when a whistling sound to her left caught attention. Her mind and heart were both shocked as she entered. She saw Eamin on her knees, with two surrounding guards with a strong hand on each shoulder, and she said nothing as her friend walked towards her. Eamin's eyes were starting to widen, as she knew what was about to happen. "Hey, girl!" Jemla said in a happy tone, in an attempt to defuse Eamin's obvious worry, and not feeling any sense of terror about the situation, whilst at the same time, combating the knife of regret attempting to stab at her soul. But then as she emerged into the square where Eamin knelt trapped, a guard from the left hand side bashed Jemla on the head with a truncheon, knocking her unconscious to the floor. The sight of the harm against Jemla unleashed a new chill of horror in her younger friend's heart. "NO!" Eamin shouted, a tear falling down her face.

"Hold your tongue!" the guard to her right growled in her ear.

As the guard moved to grab the baguette out of the back of Jemla's jacket, and the slightly panting Kimlo walked into the square, a huge black cart came riding down another street that the square, known particularly as Brhea's Square. It then stopped just in front of the knocked out Jemla and captured Eamin, and its side door opened. Out came two more guards, and finally, King Ghadra, dressed in a black leather costume with a top of silver mail, bearing the combined moon and wave symbol of the Lamarouish Kingdom, emerged. There he was: in all his menacing glory. His greasy black hair shining against the sunlight above, his dark eyes and serious face and cold, dark demeanour being felt all around. A sense of anger filtered into Eamin's tearful, terrified eyes as she saw the King walk towards her. "Aah... these grubs get teenier and teenier by the day. And that brat thought she could break my laws again, did she? Well, guard!" King Ghadra prompted the guard to throw the baguette to him. "I will take this and give it back to the man that deserved it, myself". Ghadra suddenly yanked a chunk out of the bread and bit into it. Kimlo, his mind alight with fury, was nevertheless too scared to show his outrage at the King's actions, and he had to accept the half-loaf as it now was.

"Take them to the cells! And treat that runt like dirt! I am glad I was alerted of this... no-one's coming to save her now!" As the guard dragged Jemla away from the scene, and the now-crying Eamin was tied up and frog marched in the same direction- Ghadra further vocally reflected on his achievement. "I'LL MAKE SURE YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!" Eamin shrieked at the top of her lungs, with her voice cracking through her tears. This was met by a stinging slap from the metal-covered hands of the guard accompanied her. "This will be excellent, I've wanted her for a long time! I'll punish them now as I see fit! Take them to jail!" The King turned back to the flustered Kimlo. "Oh, and by the way, YOU MAKE THE MOST DELICIOUS BREAD, SIR!"

The news of Jemla and Eamin's arrest exploded at Kolbinera House. The girls, who had by now all returned to the house, were inconsolable - and were broken hearted at the thought that their best friend and perceived older sister may not come back. What would become of her? The teenager who, whilst not appreciating everything she did, they loved so much as a person? And what would become of the girl's beloved best friend - the outgoing one, the one who would lead them out of dangerous situations that they themselves would get into? But then there was Somor. Somor had first looked out his window when he realised something was wrong down below, as he was in the bedroom he and Jemla shared - and saw the guards with Eamin, with no sign of Jemla. At that moment, he knew what had happened: they had both been captured. Only those of 12 years old and over could be imprisoned in the castle and Eamin had just hit that age. She could have simply being taken home to be disciplined. But that wouldn't be enough for the Lamarouish tyrant. Somor thought of what happened to prisoners in that castle - for the most part, it would be their final resting place. They would remain there until starved to death, or being executed. If fortune happened to smile on them, they could be sent into exile or in cases that were increasing in rarity every year, they would be released. Somor could not think in his head how, under Lamarouish law, Jemla would be released - as it was not the first time she had done this, and was a troublemaker known to many. Many wanted her in prison, and the most uncaring wanted her dead. A trial would result in more witnesses for the prosecution than those for the defence. A few minutes after that first dreadful sight, and hearing the sobs of the remaining thirteen 12-year old girls and potentially other members of staff below, the white jacketed, brown topped and trousered Somor fell back onto his bed - hooking his grey socks into the duvet. Shutting his eyes, Somor knew he had to think about he must now do from here. He briefly mused about not being able to do what he was planning to do alone - but knew at the same time there was no other option.

As seconds turned to minutes, Somor lay on his bed thinking about everything that constructed the situation he was faced with now. Everything that he disliked about King Ghadra, and everything he respected him for. Ultimately, King Ghadra was a tartar - and carried out his threats. And what if he had threatened Jemla and Eamin with certain death?

He thought about everything he loved about Jemla, everything he perhaps didn't like so much. Ultimately, Jemla had had so many 'near-misses', what happened to her today would have had to have happened eventually.

He thought about everything he liked about Eamin, everything he perhaps would appreciate would not be the way it was within her. Ultimately, Eamin chose to accept the dare, and didn't listen to Sister Losel - but then again, he never listened to what she said himself, for they were lessons he had learned before he arrived in Lamarou.

The crux of Somor's decision was simple. He would be able to cope with the bereavement of those lost around him - but something deep inside him; some strange, soothing, almost nurturing instinct, the one that came into his life that fateful day at the Jenabe river, was sending a message to his head that Jemla had to be allowed to live, as was the case with Eamin. It was not the sort of instinct that he felt he could disobey in any way, because it felt almost like a shield that protected him from harm, protected him from death. The first instinct that came to Somor's head when he ever considered defying that mysterious feeling was a cold feeling of pure, hard, terror: an instinct he could feel in no other way whatsoever - and a feeling that Somor, an almost indestructible force, could not bear at all.

Then, after fifteen minutes of concluding thought, he jolted from his bed as if he had been electrocuted, and walked over to Jemla's bed, a thought set off in his head like a spark setting off a bomb. Bending down at the foot of the bed - and opening a secret drawer positioned at the bottom of it, he pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment, took it out and shut the drawer again. Standing up, and rolling it out on Jemla's bed, it came back to him what it was. Jemla always told him if he managed to escape one of their major pranks and she got captured, he should open that drawer and use that map. It was a map of the castle, which Jemla's friends had stolen before whilst escaping from imprisonment in the castle - and had passed it onto her since then. But realising the value of that piece of parchment, and fearing the map being lost with no spares, Somor had secretly taken it to the South-East Library, one of his favourite places in the world, and had it copied using their printing machinery. He silently laughed in his mind about how he lied to the administrators saying that he was doing it on behalf of royal propaganda - and remembered a lot of ale bottles being placed around the reception desk. It was an unusual shift time after all, not many people went into the library, even when open 24 hours a day, at 6 o'clock in the morning.

He moved to sit back down on his bed again with the map on his lap, and a plan slowly began to slot into his mind like a jigsaw puzzle.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


	5. Day Two part two

_**-10PM THAT NIGHT-**_

Somor's stomach was delightfully digesting the beautiful dinner that Kolbinera's cook had served him that night. But - at least, as his heart contemplated, the beauty of the taste deflected from the negative energy that plagued the dining room with the absence of Jemla and Eamin. The introductory prayers at the start of the dinner, which should have gone some way to rehabilitating emotional equilibrium were all but tarnished when the thought of the friends that they had seemingly lost was allowed to filter back into their mind. Helga, Gojam, Sister Losel and the other members of staff had to accept that they were dealing with thirteen broken-hearted girls who would probably never be the same way again emotionally until they were returned to them, it did not matter in what state they did so. After all, twelve was still a tender age unless you had endured intense emotional joy and agony in equal measure: which would prepare you prematurely for the hard life outside of childhood. And under the sheltered watch of Kolbinera House's staff - these girls were not of that position. And to lose two people who meant so much to them in terms of mental and emotional connection would be too much for them to bear.

Unbeknownst to Somor: Helga, the supreme commander of the establishment, had already made up her mind about what to do. She, even in her sheer burst of anger, had listened to the advice of those around her in terms of Eamin. Eamin was a 12-year old girl, and to Helga, despite her comparatively more outgoing nature, was just one of the group. Therefore, if she did return, she would just be returned to Kolbinera House but with a greater threat of punishment issued to her and all the other girls to ensure fairness. But for Jemla, it would be very different. She was 15 years old. She was old enough to leave home. And the last thing Helga wanted to show the LBET (Lamarouish Board of Educational Trustees, who ran bi-annual inspections of every educational establishment) was that there was a girl living under that roof who had been in prison, no matter for how long. She could not care for the feelings of Gojam, who was forcibly repressing the worry he had for his own child, or the thought in her consciousness reminding her that she was her stepdaughter. No. Enough was enough. Jemla had made the choice to abandon her residence and her life by what she did. So if she did come back, the door would be closed to her. Jemla would have to make her own way in the world. And therefore it would be all the better for everyone around her.

But would she think the same thing tomorrow morning?

Somor had left the dining room early, saying he had felt a great bout of tiredness, and wanted to go to bed early. The other residents in the room respected his decision, possibly owing to understanding the grief he was enduring, but not showing, of Jemla and Eamin's absence: two people who everyone knew he was close to, with Jemla being the bigger example. Somor looked through the windows of the old house as he headed up the stairs towards his bedroom on the top floor - and saw that a dark night had fallen, an unusual sight for the month of September. But that would be perfect for him - no guard would see him advancing through the streets, with the only possible perpetrators being the differently-coloured street lights that prevented the black of the night consuming the city.

Finally reaching his bedroom, Somor walked in and turned his light off - throwing off his boots to stop noises echoing to the rooms below him. He pulled out the parchment map out of that secret drawer again, to memorise it one last time, and then once gaining a good look at it against the street lights that streamed extra illumination into his bedroom window but for the curtains - he put it back. Next, he shuffled to the wardrobe - for he needed to grab a black hooded cloak which he would use to keep himself blended in with the darkness and keep his identity a secret, which could only be vital in this situation. And as well as this, he took off his white jacket and substituted it for a black one to put under his brown jacket, and once he had worn these new clothes - but for his pair of black boots, he had shut the wardrobe.

But there was one final thing he needed to do. He had to be armed.

A talent that not many people knew about Jemla but for her closest friends, was that she was an extremely skilled archer. She could hit very specific targets with almost any type of arrow, and due to her high level of co-ordination, she could easily shoot arrows and run at the same time. Jemla had, over time, become a teacher to Somor in terms of archery, and whilst Somor already knew some of the art of the bow and arrow, Jemla had taught him the streetwise tricks he had never even thought of using or just simply did not know. And Jemla had her own beloved crossbow, quiver- black and blue in colour, made of hardened wood - that she kept on top of her own wardrobe. There was no other weapon in the vicinity, and Somor could not have a bow of his own (it had been confiscated four months earlier in order to punish Jemla after her attempts to impress her stepmother with her talents at archery backfired. The idea was that if Somor had his bow confiscated, then Jemla would feel less of an incentive to behave badly) But Jemla wasn't that sort of person, and Jemla knew that Helga underestimated Somor's mental strength. It had also been the closest that Somor had come to giving physical harm to Helga.

So dark clothes now covering all his body, crossbow in his right hand, and filled-to-capacity quiver on his back that he pulled from the top of Jemla's wardrobe, Somor took a breath. It was time to begin. He opened the window of his bedroom, showcasing the night sky and to the right, a drainpipe that sloped all the way down to the ground. Somor felt the gentle wind of the night massage his face, and the feeling of the silk of his cloak caress it further - and now felt all the more ready to accomplish his mission. In front of his window there was a narrow metal ledge that he could use to climb onto the roof, and doing so with good physical effort but little physical drain: he made his way onto the roof and stabilised his balance on the roof as it sloped downwards. Somor now knew he had to edge his way in that precarious position of balance to the drainpipe that hung on the left hand side of the front wall - but did not allow fear to enter his heart. Like a cross between a ballerina and a spider, Somor edged his way to the drainpipe, and then lent further into the wall. His fingers sinking into the alcoves within the stones of the roof, he twisted his body around and now squatted his knees, looking down to see the drainpipe on the wall so he could get a better range of descent. Somor took a deep breath and made his next move. He rolled over the side, gripping the first handles holding the pipe to the wall with his hands, front-flipping his body forward: and made use of the one miniscule chance he had as he saw the wall again and the second pair of handles to grab them, and repeat the same athletic procedure. And so - Somor soon found himself safely on the ground, having accomplished an incredible soldier manoeuvre he learned at the tender age of nine in the Kenatrian military.

He then tip-toed across the garden to the locked front gate, and immediately jumped to grab the top rail of the gate, and doing so successfully, pulled himself up with all his strength to stand on the gate, and turned his body around, wrapping his body around one of the metal bars and edged himself down it like it was a pole. And from that point on - Somor felt truly secure. The hardest part of the ascent had come and gone - ensuring that he didn't get caught. He began to walk to the right of his location.

To the majority of people, the thought of walking a distance of eight miles to the castle from his location would simply be impossible: but Somor, in truth, was a person able to handle such endurance, and had the focus to never lose his gaze. And the further the night passed on unhindered, the less people there would be roaming the streets, defying the eleven o'clock curfew. By Somor's calculations, it would take him two hours at a minimum to reach his destination.

And despite the curfew not taking force for 30 minutes - Somor did not meet anyone else on the streets. He wondered past the darkened stone buildings, cobbled and stone roads, and negotiating the winding roads and streets of the South-Eastern city - all on his own. But it was a pleasant walk. It was nice to wonder around at night, whether on his own or within friends. Because everyone else would abide the law, and not bother him. And the thirty minutes after that were just as peaceful too - and was an hour into his walk before it happened. Somor was negotiating his way down yet another darkened alley when he suddenly began to think he was hearing footsteps other than his own. He stopped dead in his tracks. He heard nothing. Decided to check his thoughts again, he walked a little further then stopped. He heard footsteps stopping a second later. There was someone else there. And if they were stopping and starting in the same way - then whoever it was, they did not want Somor to know who it was, or find them. Somor reasoned it might be a Lamarouish guard trying to catch him out. Therefore: Somor had to flush him out. Therefore, he decided to walk a greater distance towards the area where the street he was on and the opposite street converged onto the next long road - but stopped again. He then walked a little distance, and then the opposite person did. Then, Somor crossed to the other side of the street, and spotted the figure walking into view. Somor's mind was briefly startled as it appeared in a similar way to how he was dressed. It wasn't a guard. Unless he was undercover…

"DON'T MOVE!" Somor shouted, aiming his crossbow. The figure, undeterred, began to walk towards him, pulling off their hood.

"What's it to you?" the voice replied. And Somor startled, thinking he recognised the voice.

"Denash?"

"You know me?" The figure enquired, removing her hood. Denash's hair tied in a bun - and making her trademark neck switch, playing up to her attempted captor. Somor took off his hood.

"Yes" Denash's facial expression did not change at all.

"I thought you would be out tonight. Are you going to the castle?" Denash asked.

"Sigh, no I'm going for the night shift" Somor retorted. Denash smiled.

"I think we're about an hour away from there, let's go" Denash turned towards the road ahead and Somor followed her. They walked together through the streets that were gradually becoming more illuminated against the lights, therefore, having to be more careful about where they stepped. And as they leaned against a stone building with a shelter that leant into a wall behind an orange street light - Somor and Denash sneaked past the latest weapon of Lamarouish security that faced them on their journey. After they passed it, and moved back onto the main curving road - Somor turned to Denash. "What are you carrying?" he asked, in a half-whisper. As she walked, Denash reached her right arm into her side and pulled out what was known as a Smithsword - a hammer that weighed the same as a sword and could be wielded like a sword: but carried the same weight of a basic hammer to the head. Somor did not bother to ask how Denash acquired it - for it was fairly obvious: left behind by the 'companions' who she experienced grew up. "We have a good combination" Somor said, nodding his head.

"You bet" Denash replied, her emotion again indetectable in her voice.

_**-CASTLE OF LAMAROU, NORTH-WEST ENTRANCE, FIFTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER-**_

Crawling out of the slightly leaf-strewn tunnel, the brown eyes now saw a straight path from there, made up of tall grass, that surrounded the outer fences of the castle of Lamarou.

The guard awoke from his slumber in his wooden floored and walled booth. Looking at his watch, he saw it was 12:04am, but it was time for his nightshift to begin. He woke from his chair, picked up his 'arrowgun', opened the iron door and walked out onto the fenced-off path in front of his booth and began to patrol the walls that surrounded the compound. At the same time his friend went in to replace him, so he could get at least some hours sleep. They alternated shifts in this part of the castle.

It was during this changeover that they didn't notice the two intruders creeping over a stone ledge near them to get them over the fence and into the castle.

Somor and Denash hid behind the minefield of tall pine trees outside the castle walls, the shadows of the trees also helping to hide them. The black capes they wore were an extremely effective camouflage, hiding their dark, but still viewable clothing under the moonlight: which now became another hazard as they advanced to the castle and further to the East. Creeping through the silence, the two of them advanced through the woodlands - but halfway through, Somor nudged Denash, and shot an arrow into one of the pine trees, and a Lamarouish guard, clearly a sniper, fell to the ground: with Denash grabbing him as he fell to prevent a true noise being made. Somor gave Denash a silent, acknowledging nod and they moved on, leaving the guard dead among the woods. Eventually: the two teenagers got to a tall, high, marble white wall that formed a final obstacle. Somor recognised this wall on the map - this was the final perimeter before they entered the main area of the castle. Three guards patrolled a doorway in the middle of the wall simultaneously, but now it was Denash's turn to provide the solution to a difficult problem. She frantically took three darts out of her left pocket that Somor recognised instantly from his military days as sleeping darts and she threw each one at a rate so fast it could incalculable by human senses. After all three guards fell to the ground unconscious, darts in their bodies, they walked through the doorway.

Walking through the doorway - they now saw the grandiose views of the Western side of the Castle Of Lamarou. They could see the white towers of the main castle - and then, right in front of them, in shades of orange stone, there stood the prison towers, topped by stones that sloped around the turrets in a circle, almost in the style of story books - that were all kept on the Western side. Both of them knew that in one of them: Jemla and Eamin would be locked up in one of the prison cells. The problem was - they just did not know which one. So their next step was to enter the towers to find a map of the prison itself, telling them which one it would be in.

Signalling with his hand to move forward, Somor took the lead and the two teenagers made their way down the sloping hills towards the edge of the nearest prison tower in silence. On close inspection, Denash could see with her 20/20 vision that there was a sign on the stone saying 'GUARD TOWER'. _Perfect_, she thought. She then continued her foray down the hill but then heard a thudding noise to her right. She saw Somor on his backside, having fallen over. She pulled the section of her hood down that covered her mouth. "Get up, cunt!" Somor quickly responded by getting up, recognising the fundamentals of his own mistake. Ten seconds later: they found themselves on the bottom of the hill and were on flat stony ground surrounding the tower - and within a few seconds of searching, Denash spotted a window. Knowing that Denash was the lighter of the two, Somor knew he would have to give her a leg up through the window. Somor knelt down and put his hands together to receive Denash's leg: and she daintily stepped with her right foot onto the foothold provided: and then used her height and size to squeeze through the window. As Denash made her way through - she understood where she was. It was a simple room with a small table of four stools, lit up entirely by a crackling fire in the middle. Overcoming the sight of a beautiful fire (which she loved), Denash crawled into the room, and sneaking past the guard sleeping in one of the four chairs, she moved to a set of keys hanging on a wooden stick hammered into the wall - and removed it. But then she remembered she had to work out which key belonged to whom.

The guard let out a giant snore. Denash jumped.

Not being deterred - she turned her focus to a map of the prison compound that was conveniently sprawled across the small table: and noticed that each drawn cell contained the names of its residents magically written on the map with magical red ink (with the writing changing in conjunction with who moved into each cell at any given time). Denash's eyes scanned the map carefully, and briefly noticed that the sleeping guard's arm leaning on the map was obscuring a few names. But Denash had no need to worry. She soon saw the names of 'JEMLA + EAMIN' in a cell towards the Eastern end of Prison Tower 2. Smirking at her triumph, Denash made her way back out the window with the collection of keys, and collected her right foot on Somor's created foothold - making a safe descent back onto the ground.

_**-THE ROYAL BEDCHAMBER, CASTLE OF LAMAROU-**_

The Castle Of Lamarou was a tall, imposing looking white building, that differed in design to fantastical castles in that it did not have multiple towers and turrets stretching off it, though it did have a tower in the middle of the roof which was used as an observatory for the castle's astronomers. It was an eight-floored building, with almost the entire interior decorated in white marble. The middle of it housed a red-carpeted staircase that served as an access point to all the floors in the castle. On the ground floor, through the entrance, there was a grand entrance foyer, with the dining hall on the left and the King's throne and conference room on the right. On the fifth floor, there housed the conference room where the King, at least was supposed to, meet with his ministers to direct the running of the country. But as Ghadra's rule became more tyrannical, the room had almost become defunct. The sixth floor was dedicated entirely to the palace's guards - this was where they slept, ate, engaged in recreation and planned their duties.

But on the sides of the castle there were five prison towers - each one housing many deviants who dared to break King Ghadra's laws, or simply cross his person. Aware that escape attempts were possible: the guards had ensured towers 1, 3 and 5 were on one side of the castle and 2 and 4 on the other - so people would have to pass through the whole castle to get to the tower that they wanted to get to. After all: how could anyone bypass such impregnable security?

As night continued to fly over the royal bedchamber and the four poster bed that the monarchs slept in, Ghadra could not sleep, and it was only in the embrace of his wife Queen Fero, that he would be able to. Stirring in his uncomfortable doze and toiling under the scarlet-covered duvet, he put his arm around what should have been the Queen. But he could only feel the soft silk of his bed. Looking up, his eyes flashed open, as he saw that her half of the bed was empty. "JORSO!" Ghadra called upon his manservant, who quickly came in flustered. Instantly realising the queen was missing, he reached over to a warning bell found in the Bedchamber, and rang it: without needing to heed the King's command. Through the magical security system that existed within the castle: the loud distress call was heard across the entire castle. As well as the two intruders who had entered the Emergency Stairwell on the left hand side of the castle, in an attempt to get a good route.

The Emergency Stairwell was a spiral staircase with a mixture of doors leading into corridors on each of the different floors, as well as trick doors. These guards were not without brains. And contrary to the castle's interior: it was entirely constructed of stone, but the stairs were especially wide enough so people could negotiate them safely. But the main purpose of their design was not for people to climb up them. Somor and Denash found themselves negotiating their way up towards the second floor on that stairwell when the alarms went off. "Shit" Denash murmured.

"We didn't set that off" Somor added, jumping to conclusions. He then began to hear what sounded like footsteps coming down from the higher floors. Looking around, he spotted a secret alcove within the wall.

"Here" he murmured, almost pulling Denash in. The two of them concealed themselves behind the walled stone, as an entire troop of guards came running down the steps past their position. The precision that Somor learnt in the military came into action as he sensed they had all passed - and peeping his head around the corner, he knew they were gone. He signalled for both to resume their course.

Somor was unaware there were trick doors, and proceeded through the door signed 'FLOOR 4', and opened it. There, he immediately saw the danger. The grounds of the castle lay far below, awaiting them if they were tricked. Shutting the door, and blocking what he had seen out, he merely turned to Denash and said "wrong door". They moved further up the stairs and found another door with the same sign - and Somor decided that it was worth taking the risk. And true to his thoughts, they emerged into the marble corridors of floor 4, with Denash following in his wake.

"Nothing at the entrance, look on the floors themselves!" the teenagers heard being shouted from somewhere below them. Dark shadows were forming among the corridors as night proceeded on, with only certain areas being illuminated by moonlight alone - all lights were turned off at night in the castle. Silently, the two black-cloaked figures crept across the corridor, moving between the shadows - but then Somor stopped and froze. A woman dressed in merely her white nightgown, her chin-length hair bobbing up and down with her movements; was looking down both the left and right hand sides of the corridor - wondering if it was safe to move, carrying a ringed set of grey keys in her right hand. And on showing her face, and the determination and terror in her eyes, and running away again, Denash nudged Somor from behind. "It's the Queen", she whispered.

_Go after her. Somor, go after her._

Somor felt the instinct in his heart telling him to pursue her. And soon as he did so, Denash's mind flashed with confusion and alarm. Why was he following her? Desperately trying to reason the situation in her head, she reached a conclusion. If anyone knew the way across to the other stairwell - it would be the Queen herself. She seemed in a hurry. Therefore, she would get to the end faster than they would on their own. And starting to hear noises other than the three of them in the corridor: Denash began following her. For Somor - his focus was clear. He altered his running pace to be as quiet as Queen Fero's. It was surprising that Denash's comparative failure to keep silent didn't make the Queen turn around: which would have made her discover the presence of the intruders, but by now the Queen was panicking. She was going to get to her destination and nothing was going to stop her. Finally, she took out a key and opened one of the white-gilded doors of the corridor. Somor merely peeked behind the corner. And immediately knew where they were.

The Parallel Wall was the only material and direct link from Alaunus to Lunaris. However, it was not used for divine purpose, for under Lamarouish rule, it was a method of execution. Anyone that went through there went straight to the divine kingdom and never came back. It was a giant white wall, with levers on the side panels to activate the magical suction beams needed to suck in the victim. The person would stand on a blue square, glass walls would appear from the floor to trap them, and the victim would be sucked in through the wall like something into a vacuum mechanism. Upon leaving the wall, they would fly through Equilibrium towards the Spiritual Archives, to join the proverbial sea of departed souls from the world that contributed to the planetary balance in their passing. The Wall itself was contained in a sealed-off square section of room, separated by a golden gate.

Somor uncomfortably watched, with Denash catching up to him, the two of them still concealed amongst the shadows of the night due to the lack of the light that came from the room they were looking into. Queen Fero pulled out another key in her possession and unlocked the golden gate leading into the sealed room. "Is she going to... no?" Denash whispered. Somor only watched. _Always the listener_. But then his heart skipped a beat for a second. The woman in white, with all her strength pulled the first lever, and ran at an incredible speed considering the nightgown she was wearing, to the second, pulling it too. And maintaining that speed, made her way to the blue square. Somor knew it instantly: she was going to kill herself. Queen Fero of Lamarou was about to die. As the seal surrounded the square, Somor and Denash could only see the winds blowing the nightgown dramatically like an angel flying through the air - as the Queen spread her arms out... almost welcoming and embracing the winds and death that awaited her. Somor and Denash, seeing no reason to hide, ran into the room to get a better view. Ten seconds later - the Queen was gone, sucked into the wall. Denash could not believe what she had seen: she was gone... Queen Fero was dead. Lamarou would now be a true dictatorship under the King's rule alone. It was only the Queen that apparently kept that order.

But then Somor noticed something. In his studies of capital punishment, he read that the moment everyone had been sucked into the wall that needed to be: the wall rippled, as the spectral gate between Alaunus and Lunaris tried to close itself. But Queen Fero was the only figure in that room, and the wall had not closed. A question of why that happened filtered into Somor's mind, and curiosity was hitting Denash too at what just seemed like a strange event anyway, and her mind raced yet again to try to find a solution.

But then it happened.

A gold beam of light softly emerged from the wall, like a tentacle, but did not stop at the shield. It seemed to waver in different directions, and Somor and Denash were so busy watching its movements, it didn't notice what was going on. Then, a second later, it lunged for Somor and pulsated into his face. Denash stood back in absolute horror as her Citsituan friend was engulfed with golden light: beams shooting out of his eyes, his body glowing, his limbs stretched in different directions to consolidate for the golden light. It was a painful spectacle for Denash to witness, and one completely alien to her, but soon it was over. The wall began to ripple and close: and a disoriented Somor fell to his knees, breathing heavily. Denash bent down in front of him and put his right hand on his shoulder, her mind throbbing in alarm. "Somor, can you hear me? Are you hurt?" Somor nodded.

"I... no. I am alright. Come on, let's get them out" Somor stood up and dashed out of the room, as if nothing had happened. And Denash felt she had no choice but to follow him - waves of confusion hitting her every second.

They found their way to the spiral staircase and successfully made their way to the bottom: emerging on the opposite side of the castle to the one they entered on. Prison Tower 2 was right in front of them, in an identical visual scene to the one they entered when breaching the perimeter. But once they emerged from the staircase: they had no choice but to remain in the shadows that seeped from the bottom of the tower - as a guard remained in talk with his boss. "...so, there's no sign she escaped from the castle?"

"No. That means she must still be inside. I want you to join the chase. She won't be in the prisons now, will she?"

"No, but... what about the prisoners? They might escape"

"It doesn't matter - the King will have enough gumption to get them all back where they belong. Head up to floor 4 and begin the search there. There's only a few possibilities of what might have happened inside and we're continuing searches on the outer perimeter, but we have to take care of all probabilities"

"Alright, I'll head up there now"

"I'll follow you to the first floor"

Somor and Denash leaned in flat against the tower wall as the two guards walked past them, not seeing those in the darkness. Denash made a move to get out but Somor stretched his arm out in front of her to block her, not feeling the time was right. Ten seconds later, he opened the unlocked door of Prison Tower 2 and they entered. What then followed was a 20-minute trek through dark, damp stone corridors lit by orange flames. This was obviously a neglected part of the castle. Certainly not in comparison to the areas they had just been through. It was a struggle to not trip over the sudden inclines and chicanes that made up the winding nature of the tunnels - but they were entirely deserted. Denash realised that the guards must have all been evacuated to deal with the outside situation. And remembering the way the map looked in her head: they finally reached what she thought was their final destination. Dramatically, it was at the end of the corridor they were in. The cell of Jemla and Eamin.

Inside the cell at that moment: Jemla battled the need to go to sleep. She was forced to sit, as chains restrained her hands and her ankles. Next to her - Eamin was now dozing. But she certainly was not doing so earlier. Her first hour in the prison was spent crying; the thought of death staring her in the face being too heavy a sensation to accept, only eventually feeling some sense of hope and happiness inside her that allowed her to not lose heart. However: the guilt that was in Jemla's heart was beginning to eat at her further. Eamin did not deserve to be in this mess, and now she was locked in here because of something she had instigated. Even though it was Jemla's idea and wanted to be caught - Eamin did not deserve this. She had made a mistake. She had forgotten that Eamin was no more prone to escaping as she was. She just hoped that at some point, the 'two that remained', in her mind, Somor and Denash, would come to the rescue. She was confident that they would come - for they had the courage to try such a stupid thing. That was not her main worry right now though, - for if something happened to Eamin, she could never forgive herself now.

Somor's brown eyes peeked beyond the small barred window of the cell. They were definitely at the far end of a tower right now because moonlight was coming through a small section of the window, and he saw it shine on the prisoners. His brain lit up in relief as he knew it was Jemla and Eamin. Signalling Denash to unlock the door, she inserted it in whilst Somor kept watch: just in case someone heard them. He couldn't take any chances, not even with the evidence he had seen to suggest there was no security within the castle. The other thing that was now in Somor's mind was for now being suppressed by the events in front of his senses. Six seconds later: Denash unlocked the door and the two of them headed inside the cell. Jemla was speechless. They were actually there. She kicked Eamin awake - and Somor put a sign to his lips indicating to Eamin to shut up. Frantically: Denash and Somor unchained Jemla and Eamin's shackles and Jemla moved to a small section of wall at the top-left hand corner of the room and the top of the left wall. "The secret tunnel's down here" With all her strength, Jemla pushed the small grouped square of four stones so it no longer blocked the route, and Somor, careful to prevent them being chased, locked the door from the inside and threw the set of cell keys through the barred window. Once crawling through the secret hole, they found themselves on a small ledge leading to a ladder that took them down a sewer route. Jemla took care to be the last person who came down in order to push the stone door back into its place, and soon - the triumphant youngsters found themselves walking through the sewers under the castle.

_**-CITADEL HILL, OVERLOOKING SOUTH-EASTERN LAMAROU-**_

About two hours later, the time now hearing half-past two in the morning: Jemla, Somor, Denash and Eamin found themselves back in the open air. The subterranean cavern they negotiated lead back up to a cave which came out at one of Jemla's favourite spots in the world: Citadel Hill, an area she loved for its position among the trees and stars, and it allowed her to get away from all other distractions when she wanted to. It was an area grounded by a mixture of grass and stones, with a small pool of water running off a stream from a small cliff above. But to the pool's left and right, there were entrance caves that were cool and hospitable - with no insects or pests to unnecessarily join human company. This was often where Jemla slept when she didn't want to return home. Amazingly, Eamin was not asleep, for the whole experience was too much for her to make her sleep. The three girls and one boy now sit on the stones at the front of the hill as they overlooked the town, with only one thing on their mind.

"I'd knew you'd come" Jemla said, with a half-laugh.

"We're useful guys, you know" A smiling Denash replied, jokingly kissing her friend on the cheek. Somor turned to Eamin, who was looking off into the night.

"Are you alright?

"Yeah Somor... just a little tired"

"It's been a big night"

"I've never been arrested before, I didn't think it'd ever happen, to me at least"

"Jemla would never get you in danger. Ha-ha. Ever" Jemla laughed at Somor's small joke.

"Yeah. Now I know she will"

For another ten minutes, everyone sat in silence. Denash then knew there was something in her mind she had to ask. "Somor... what happened, tonight?" Somor turned to Denash - thinking desperately of an answer to the question he hoped that wouldn't come up. He took a deep breath.

"Somy?" Jemla encouragingly enquired.

"I'm the Arbiter Of Truth"

The three girls with him that night all found their minds frozen with the seeping waters of shock entering their heads. Were they imagining what Somor had told them? No matter what their education, or rather lack of, they all knew what the Arbiter of Truth was. Who it was. Everything about it. It was one of the most legendary yet important parts of divine theory.

Whenever the Deity sensed that equilibrium was in imbalance in the favour of dark Aether: a random person in a random area of the three material worlds would become the Arbiter of Truth: and would have to perform a specific task to rectify the situation in question. Once in a position to do so: they would come magically into the possession of the most powerful known weapon to theologians - the Gun Of The Arbiters, a conventional rifle-looking gun, white in colour, but with one exception: instead of a magazine, there would be a glowing crystal pulsating with magic, that would generate powerful shots of lethal Aether that could kill any living being in one shot that tried to destroy it, except one who had come to experience, honestly and truthfully, the vital, yet maniacal force that was Aether.

In short, no-one.

Once the Arbiter had accomplished their duty: they would then die; a sacrifice to Equilibrium to allow their soul to contribute the energy of light Aether that they had been a container of, to its recovery - signalled by the incessant rain that would fall upon all areas of Alaunus, Linveria and the Merchant Islands upon their death, that in the minds of many storytellers, represented the tears of the Deity and His Servants.

And Jemla, Denash and Eamin's minds were filling with the dark knowledge that that duty had fallen upon their friend.

And it was filling up in Somor's mind too.


	6. Day Three

_**-SISTER UVICA OF NOLEMBRAI'S DIOSCESICAL CHURCH, SOUTH EASTERN LAMAROU-**_

The sun would soon begin to break over the horizon, and dawn would descend over Lamarou. The citizens of the city would be just waking up, some already heading out of their homes and breathing in the fresh, cold, morning air.

Although only a few hours after Somor and Denash rescued their friends from the prison towers of the castle, it would be unknown to the Lamarouish citizens. For there would be only one story. The main headlines would be that Queen Fero of Lamarou, loved by the population [unlike the king], had gone missing, presumed dead; and sensationalist quarters of the pamphleteering media would unleash the rumours and conspiracy theories. Furthermore, anger against King Ghadra would rise still further, for the general pro-queen population would also be angry that the king didn't seem to care that much, except to those close to the royal family: who knew that the relationship was starting to show signs of storms. But the main question was: how much did King Ghadra have to do with the Queen's disappearance? And was it murder?

Another day would soon became another. The moon would set and the sun would rise again. But none of this mattered to Somor anymore. For ever since the knowledge of the powers of the Arbiter of Truth entered his body... ever since the understanding of what he must now do entered his body... his brain was nearing shutdown. Everything had changed so suddenly. Even in those homely caves of Citadel Hill, he could not sleep a wink. All he could do was toss and turn as his body faced this new, indescribable nightmare.

But the one thing that hit Somor hardest more than anything was the knowledge that he was going to die. Somor feared death. He loved life, he loved being a part of it and everything around it, he just wasn't ready to be ripped away from it. He could feel his heart being torn at the thought of it. And then he imagined how his friends would react when he was gone... it went against everything he stood for. He could accept other people leaving this world, but by the same token - would other people accept him leaving the world? He didn't know. And that was the problem: the uncertainty. There were too many questions and too many answers Somor's heart didn't want to be true. He wasn't ready to give up on his life. The whole wave that had crashed over him was threatening to drown him.

But Somor was a religious young man, a pious teenager- who if not doing anything else was either tending to animals, walking through forests or reading the Deity's teachings. Though he never admitted it, for he never felt the need to, he, like many other people older than him: relied on the Deity to give him a sense of tranquillity and hope. For Somor had enough initiative, intelligence, independence and life experience to understand how pivotal the principle of Equilibria was. And to him now, the need to restore it was dominant in his unconscious. At five o'clock in the morning, with dawn not even broken over the world he adored - Somor broke the law yet again: for it was against the Lamarouish constitution to leave home between 9pm and 6am except if people had what were known as Night Shift Permits or NSPs, so they could prove they were working in those particular obscure, yet often important hours. But again: that was not the one track in Somor's one-tracked mind at this moment in time.

The Sister Uvica of Nolembrai's Diocesical Church was small, with only room for 150 people at best to sit as a worshipping audience. But these diocesical churches, as they were known, were very common in number in Lamarou: and often only had enough room for that number of people anyway. It would, actually, strike theologians who visited the churches in different regions that they could easily be walking into the same one every time. Dark brown-and-black walls decorated in iron, gothic architecture surrounding them, the plain white stone walls, and the same brown altar perched high at the front with all golden decorations and ideographical depictions of various important concepts of the Deity's Teachings standing proud, forever perfectly painted, presenting the perfect backdrop for the regional church figure giving the service.

Towards five o'clock in the morning, Somor left his still sleeping friends behind in the caves at Citadel Hill and began a 30-minute long, almost epileptic run, to the church. That was his destination - his favourite church of all the ones he knew, as well as being the nearest to home. As he dashed through the streets - his emotions laid bottled up inside him, waiting to be released, just like a bomb waiting to explode. The fear of dying... the fear of deserting his friends... he wanted to fight or flight, in his military instincts against death but now it was forced upon him... the uncertainty of his emotions, his friends' emotions... and the fear of dying again. And the further he ran, the more unstable he got. Depression was peeling away the roof of his heart, and these cold, sad facts were going to unleash cloud bursts of sadness to drown his body. But finally - 35 minutes after leaving Citadel Hill, it was onto the grey-chalked floors of the church that Somor stepped across, almost in a half stumble. He fell onto one of the seated benches on the right hand side, no longer in control of his movements, and the emotional bomb that existed inside him went off. Hands clasped and elbows digging stiffly into the bench in front, he burst into a hurricane of tears, mumbling prayers through his hysterics for some sort of guidance... some reassurance... something to calm him down... Somor was not heartbroken, but he was certainly in a state of anguish. His body was hurting from the way it was shaking so much, and for the first time in many years - Somor was raw. All emotional shields that there were fell away - and there, the true Somor sat: a frightened, terrified, volatile, emotionally tangled Citsituan child being faced with a duty that dwarfed all others - and demanded the saving of the world at the cost of his own life. It never even occurred to him that this high duty had never been given to any of his kindred before.

For the following five, long minutes, Somor went into the signature Citsituan state of mental shutdown - he had never pleaded so physically or non-physically to the Deity this intensely, ever, and he was now completely spent. But now he needed it more than ever. But then - slowly but surely, the emotional pain began to fall away from his heart and mind. He could feel the pangs, but it was almost as if the animal representing his anguish was becoming trapped again behind a strong cage. And three minutes after it started: with a few tears still trickling down his cheeks, Somor no longer felt the pain. All he had were the thoughts of what he must do, and the personality he had prior to his attempted shut down. Something had come to help him. His prayers had been answered. It was almost similar to that strange soothing instinct that guided him for the time he had been in Lamarou - not dissimilar, anyway. But most importantly of all, his mind, almost instantly, was now ready for what ever awaited him. Somor did not even contemplate whatever bewilderment he may have at this sudden change of heart. For that was what Citsituans were like anyway. Unknown to him, his friends were looking for him for the last 15 minutes, but he know they would soon find him. A pang did try to hurt Somor slightly that they would worry about him, but the 14-year old Arbiter Of Truth was ready to compensate, and he felt no angst. He had to find out more about his role.

Somor's next stop: the Central Library of Lamarou.

_**-RITO'S DOCKS, THE NINTH CANTON OF JAVAI, LINVERIA-**_

It was a relatively peaceful day on the seas nearing Linveria. Despite the season: the sky remained a mixture of blue and grey but had much clarity - and the sea was gentle and calm. The small, brown, golden-gilded galleon made powerful yet ethereal waves as they crashed against the ocean surrounding the land. The sight of the galleon majestically flying on the ocean would have been enough to reduce any seasoned one of the seas to tears - it was truly fantastical.

The crew of this ship was merely two people - and were able to keep the ship afloat and mobile in that small number through using algomagic to automatically make the ship negotiate its present course until it finally docked in Javai. So the two men could relax aboard the craft until they reached their destination. Now, they were in their cabin within the bowels of the galleon, playing a respectable game of chess.

"Checkmate" The darker-skinned man said. "I think that's my second win" The pale-skinned man sat opposite him sighed.

"I think I need to start improving before I play you, cousin" The two men laughed.

"Hey, I wouldn't worry. You'll get better... one day"

"That day'll be tomorrow"

The conversation was interrupted as they felt the ship give a sharp jolt - shaking the whole of the ship. The darker-skinned man was almost knocked his chair - with the chessboard crashing into the right hand wall of the room. "We're here, aren't we?" the pale-skinned man asked, moving over to his cousin as he stood up.

"Yeah. Let's get off now"

Fifteen minutes later, the two men were walking off the ramp that had been put against the galleon. The workers at Rito's Docks were not expecting this boat to arrive, but they reasoned that they would get more pay for the more ships they provided their services to - so they didn't worry about it. The darker-skinned man lead the descent off the ship, and as he walked off the end patted the back of the worker who had moved the ramp. His companion and cousin bowed his head to the worker as he walked across and took a golden token out of his pocket - worth 500 tokens, and tossed it to him. The man did not have the time to see the hand's face light up, and almost weep in joy, at earning that much money for his family. It was safe to say from his clothing he had to have been close to the poverty line.

The two men who disembarked were Armal and Kemras, and were both men on a mission. They had arrived at Javai for a reason - because they had an intricate plan in their heads of how they were going to achieve every objective. They were ultimately searching for their hearts' desires: the objects of which were unknown, but that was all they would tell people who asked them: they were two travellers from the Merchant Islands returning to the mainland and searching for their hearts' desires. Only they knew who they were - and it would be between them that they would know. But they were not randomly paired men- they were cousins of the same family.

Armal was the taller, and certainly the more nomadic-looking of the two. Originally from the Merchant Islands before moving to the kingdom of Kenatria, and bearing long black hair running down his back to chest level and half-pale, half-bronze skin; and tribal tattoos on his arms: he certainly appeared unique, intimidating and not an accessible person. And the truth is - he was unique. He wasn't an accessible person. And he certainly had an intimidating presence. Armal was an individual, who liked being around his own comforts, and most of all being at one with the world around him. He was one to believe that everything was part of the song and melody of nature - and he was a part of it as it moved each hour. He also loved the rising and setting of the sun and the moon every day - and would often wake up early just to witness these spectacles. As well as that: Armal was a soldier, whose years as an accomplished fighter shaped him into a disciplined, level-headed and tough individual. He weathered the trauma and was trained to conveniently bypass whatever physical or mental pain that the strain of military duty would bring. And even after being de-mobbed, the soldier never left Armal - he would still fight for the world that he lived in, what was around him, what he loved, and what he cherished. But unlike most people who allowed those facets to remain in their personalities after military service: the self-discipline and intelligence he maintained prevented him from becoming psychopathic. In fact, if someone walked up to him in the street and tried to talk to him for a few minutes: they would notice he was an intelligent, articulate and laid-back individual. But still a complex, mysterious, hidden person.

Kemras was the pale-skinned, Citsituan cousin of Armal - and could not look any different to the rugged, warrior-looking man that accompanied him. For Kemras looked... normal, and certainly less intimidating. He had an athletic build for his size, despite being slightly shorter in stature and slightly wider in width than the 6"1 Armal, but had black hair with a slim diagonal fringe swept across his forehead like a line of ink and gentle looking grey eyes. In terms of personality: Kemras was a quiet man who never really wanted to speak unless he felt like he had to, but had a maturity and intelligence that dwarfed almost every other person that he met. But within: Kemras hid an inner fighter. He wanted his ordinary life back. And he hoped that by finding his hearts' desire, it would do him well to get back to that former utopia that he lived in before all the disasters that beset his life took place. All he had left in terms of his family was his cousin Armal: a person he had grown to idolise as a friend and as a hero in the last few days they had been together. And although he did not notice it - he and Armal had the same eyes.

To all people in the streets of Javai as Armal and Kemras walked through - they often made them turn around in either disgust, fear or curiousness. They were both dressed in the leather of knights off a battlefield, and looked as though they had been in various battles where they had killed many a traitourous monarch. They had a range of weapons in satchels strapped securely to their backs. They didn't need to worry about being weighed down by the weight- for they were both strong men. They could cope with it. Well, at least Armal could. Kemras had never served in any sort of military service at all in his life. He remained in the library, the quintessential reader of books. He had additional help.

And now, as they walked - the next step in Armal's plan was filtering again through his mind as they began to walk up a hill in the lovely port Ninth Canton that was Javai.

The Ninth Cantons were a small cluster of kingdoms located in the North-East corner of Linveria, and had a very complex history that historians regularly debated over. It was common knowledge to those who studied history that informal tournaments to appoint watching 'officers' of Linveria were held many years into the start of the First Age: but they were by-and-large not successful in attendance, due to the lack of divine assistance in such a matter. Soon afterward: a ninth tournament took place that was little-known by many, with its purpose unknown - although historians now believe that Alaunian exiles living in Linveria wanted to appoint guardians to their land that they conquered from the ever-territorial Milexan race, with their champion being the guardian of the largest canton: Dyrela. The other countries: Bertarus, Yeridicia, Javai, Reggosso and Japulot were named after the defeated finalists - and the capital city (or actually, the village where the heads of all the Cantons met to discuss territorial business) Yaljenossa was a testament to the three who did not quite make it to the final - Yalbec, Jenwin and Nosson.

The Ninth Cantons were relatively unremarkable in terms of geographical features when compared to its neighbouring Linverian kingdoms: it was mainly small port towns, farms and sprawling green hills. Every canton was incredibly rural in its construction - although it probably had to be, owing to the small size of each region. The only region in particular of note was that of Dyrela: which was one of Linveria's most important and crucial shipping ports, taking care of trade with all the other kingdoms on the landmass.

There were rumours that a tenth tournament took place, and was won by a girl named Sarjed, but there was no fanfare: it was said she lived a quiet life in Rimahus.

_**-KOLBINERA HOUSE, NOLEMBRAI CRESCENT, SOUTH EASTERN LAMAROU-**_

Three hours. It took three long painful hours of decision making. It didn't help that she was only the stepmother, and not the actual parent: for if she was, then she wouldn't face so much genetic obstruction in the decision she was now having to make. Jemla was now fifteen years old, and was old enough to leave home - and Helga had tried to get rid of her before: but Gojam would not have any of it. He would not see his only child be put onto the streets by anyone, not even the person he was married to. But this time - in Helga's mind, Jemla had gone too far. She would not have someone living under her roof who not only got in trouble with the police but was actually arrested. That made her a convict, she now had a criminal record, and had escaped - a wanted criminal of the Lamarouish castle guards. And it would not only be damaging for her own reputation, but for the school's own reputation to have a person apprehended by King Ghadra's forces. She finally pressed the question of Jemla to Gojam, and she remembered how with tears of anger and sadness in his eyes: he nodded his head to give the yes.

Jemla was leaving.

And it was in that situation that Helga gathered Jemla, Somor, Eamin and the other girls of Kolbinera House, as well as the staff, in the front foyer. The white-dressed Jemla stood in the middle of the room, with Somor and Eamin standing either side of her. Jemla knew that was about to follow was a nuclear-scale dressing down by Helga. Her dad stood by the door, silent. She didn't expect him to back her up. Eamin saw all her sisters standing in the assembled throng apprehensive of what was to happen. Helga, dressed in a flowing gown that made her look like a melted plastic roulette wheel, paced up and down the room, preparing what she was going to say. She knew there would be no point in getting too angry in this situation - not in front of everyone. No, this would be a day she would control it. For Helga knew she did have anger issues, and always fought a battle with her own emotions to keep them in check.

"Jemla... Eamin... I've never been angrier... and disappointed... than I am at both of you right now. I always knew you were gettin' wayward, but this is ridiculous. I now have two people with criminal records living under my roof - and that is a bad example to set to the school"

"I don't care about your school, Helga. I never have" Helga glared at Jemla, switching her neck.

"I'll have you know your father worked very hard to keep this place together for me to run"

"Yeah, and then look what happened" Helga quickly lost her emotional battle.

"ENOUGH!" she exploded - making Eamin's sisters jump. Gojam silently wondered why it startled the girls so, when Helga shouted - for it wasn't as if it was the first time she had ever done it.

"...look, I cannot have two criminals living under this roof. Not in my house. I want you both out"

Everyone gasped - except for Jemla, Somor and Gojam. Sister Losel ran forward and stood, almost protectively, in front of Eamin. Jemla sighed. No such affection for me then, bitch, she thought to herself.

"NO - HELGA! I won't let you do that! She is twelve years old-"

"-and a criminal arrested by the police! She could have been tried if it hadn't been for... that d-"

"Don't you dare" Jemla gasped. Somor spoke his words in a venomous, but not threatening, tone. He knew what Helga was about to say, and it was the most derogatory term to call a person from Kenatria.

"Keep out of this" Helga silently rebuked. Somor slightly moved his neck upward, saying nothing.

"Anyway - Jemla, I believe it's the best thing for all of us. It's obvious you don't care about us anymore-"

"That's true"

"...and you're ungrateful of every single ounce of care we've tried to give you" Jemla made a slight chuckle. This woman really was deranged.

"OK: you move into my dad's life, make him an emotional wreck, sever every single... connection I had with him... so if you call that care, I laugh at you! Ha-ha-ha!" Jemla deliberately spoke in an overdramatic way to mock the stepmother that rejected her. If she was going - she wasn't going to take any more from her. Helga's face was starting to puff up in its anger like, as Somor rather humorously commented a couple of years ago - a potato with heat rash.

"G...get out!"

"Helga" Somor spoke again. Helga turned her focus to him.

"What do you want?"

"...if Jemla goes... I go"

The girls were quietly crying in the corner of the room, and were escorted out into an adjacent room by Sister Losel - the thought of losing the two oldest residents of the house who were like an older brother and sister to all of them was just too much. Gojam, looking on, could see Somor had to think of his response before saying what he had said.

"Don't be st-"

"I am not stupid, I am not being stupid. I'm leaving anyway. I have other priorities anyway. I'm not comng back. Goodbye" At that moment, Somor started to head towards the door, but then Helga stuck out a leg and made him trip over. "YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE! YOU'RE TOO YOUNG TO LEAVE AND YOU'LL DO AS INSTRUCTED!" Jemla knew that Helga had made a very, very, stupid move. An angry and confused Somor got up, and turned around. Then, his eyes briefly turned yellow and two neon-esque beams of light shot out and hit Helga in the neck, with no real damage: just the equivalent of two small electric shocks. The assembled throng's eyes lit up in amazement and anxiety, including Somor's. Somor took a moment to collect himself - his powers really did exist. And he really could use them. But now he knew he had to get out, but before he opened the front door: he gripped the right door handle with his right hand and turned to the others. "It's true - I am the Arbiter Of Truth, use that knowledge in any way you will. And this is the last time you'll see me so... goodbye" Somor spoke his words void of any emotion whatsoever - but still with an obvious conviction. It was almost haunting, and it made Gojam's blood run cold. As Somor opened the door and shut it behind him, Jemla now saw that as her cue to finally leave. "JEM!"

Jemla stopped and sighed. She forgot about Eamin. She turned around, and saw Eamin standing in her spot with a small tear running down her cheek. Helga had now passed out onto the floor in shock, and everyone was too shocked at everything they had witnessed to help her. Of course, there were the two remaining people in the room who wouldn't help her anyway.

"Can I go with you?" Jemla was briefly startled by Eamin's question, but she had forgot that Helga intended both of them to be removed. Jemla smiled and nodded.

"Yeah sure girl, let's get out of here" Eamin took Jemla's hand and the two walked out of the door. But as they were about to leave, Jemla heard a voice speak softly behind her.

"Jemla"

Jemla turned around. It was her father's voice. Then, blindly following her instincts, though confusing her brain, she slowly walked over to her dad - and the two shared a long embrace. Gojam was finding it difficult to maintain his composure. It was the first time he had got to embrace or hold his only child in many years. But he was also happy to know that she still held affection for her dad: the bond between them was still there, no matter how hard Helga tried to tamper with it. "I'll be back, I know it" Jemla said, a small tear running down her cheek and her voice cracking.

"I know" Gojam replied softly. Jemla then took a step back, and left out of the door that Somor and Eamin had departed out of seconds ago.

Ten seconds after that door shut for the final time, Helga regained consciousness.

_**-TEN HOURS LATER, COPEL ROAD, A QUARTER OF A MILE AWAY-**_

Following Jemla and Eamin's semi-forced ejection and Somor's voluntary departure from the false haven that was Kolbinera House - their mutual first instinct was to head to the house of their friend Denash. Making the short walk to Copel Road, with only their clothes on their backs, they arrived at the door and told their friend of the situation. Denash had admitted she wasn't surprised that they were ejected: and believed that she could put them up for now - at least till the guards caught up with them. Somor admitted he didn't believe she needed to worry about that. So now: where before it was just Denash living there, it was now four people - Denash, Jemla, Somor and Eamin: all living in Denash's house. They would be sleeping in sleeping bags on the floor in Denash's bedroom on the top floor that she used to keep hidden in case her bed was ever reposessed (in this case the guards caught on to Denash's tricks).

Denash and Eamin were both downstairs: and Somor found himself alone in the bedroom - sat on Denash's bed looking at the moonlight streaming into the room from the long window. It was a beautiful, clear night - contrary to the previous three or four nights in Lamarou. From behind him, Jemla walked up the ramp, and then in front of her, sitting down on the bed to his right. But unknown to Jemla, the sky was still not as perfect as it could be. For an unwanted intruder had entered its workings within the last hour - and it was only Somor that seemed to spot it. Now: with Somor sat on the right of Jemla - the two sat and watched the unfolding night and talked.

"Are you alright, Somy?" Jemla asked, as she hugged her knee.

"Yeah... just thinking" Somor replied in an ethereal tone. Jemla became a tiny bit irritated. She didn't like the way that Somor was speaking in an almost deadpan voice - mainly because she couldn't determine how he was thinking.

"About?"

"Everything now..." Somor let out a brief sigh. "...everything is going to be different" Jemla realised that the connotations of being the Arbiter were well and truly blanketing Somor's mind. And that's what made her ask a question burning in her since the start of the day when she woke up to find him missing.

"Somor... what happened this morning? I mean, where did you rush off to?" Jemla watched her friend take a breath.

"I was... nearing meltdown, I needed to go to the church"

"And you feel alright now?" Jemla replied in a curious tone.

"Yeah. He answered me. I'm ready for the tasks ahead" Jemla thought to herself of the dramatic way Somor worded what he was saying. But half of her mind wanted to accept that Somor's mind was still under strain. But then she let out a slight chuckle. "What are they?" Somor then reached out his left arm and pointed at the window. "Look" Jemla looked up. And froze.

It initially appeared to her that there were two moons in the sky instead of one, but Jemla soon knew it wasn't a moon. It was a mysterious black sphere that appeared to be discretely glowing from where they were standing. Jemla didn't remember anything she had ever bothered to learn about the skies of Alaunus that contained an object that looked like that. "What the hell is that?"

"Something that shouldn't be there" Somor said, a normal tone returning to his voice. "It's what I have to destroy. Hopefully I'll understand... what it is soon. But not now"

"Need any help?" Jemla said, not quite understanding why she was saying it - but really it was her innate desire to help her friend out.

"Only when I explode" Somor said with a slight laugh.

The moment he said it, pangs of regret hit Somor at that answer. But luckily, Jemla saw whatever joke there was. "I'll be down in a minute, Jem, just give me a bit more time" Jemla nodded, and gave his right shoulder a slight pat as she stood up and followed back the route she had just made to the other two girls on the second floor.


	7. Day Four

_**-OUTER FORESTS AND HILLS OF SOUTHERN LAMAROU-**_

A beautifully bright dawn was rising over Lamarou, with the sun peeking out over the horizon to offer its early light against the stone buildings of the urban kingdom. And as the waters majestically tumbled down onto rocky pools, the life of the nature in the area known as the Southern Hills started to shake off its latest night-time. The South-East was the only one of the city's four regions that contained hills and fields that pressed against the fortifying walls: areas where the nature had been allowed to be maintained without urban or commercial interference. That was the one of the best things about the smallest region and those that lived there: this was a beautiful area to get away from it all if needed. It was a narrow yet 2-and-a-half-mile long stretch of plateaus and rugged terrain: almost like a series of miniature, green downs. Those who were well travelled often mused that these areas were ripped from the highlands of Northern Gremii.

And it was against this mountainous, romantic backdrop that Somor traversed a small satchel on his back. Having spent the last twenty-five minutes making the trek from his new home from Copel Road, and raided every cupboard he could find in that house - all he wanted to find was an open space among the scenery that he could practice his new found powers, and really get used more to the strange new powers that he had to implement. He had spent much of yesterday, before the final stand-off at Kolbinera House, in the Academico Square Library near there, reading up on the skills that the Arbiter of Truth was supposed to possess, and how they implemented them. The Arbiter's weapon was telekinesis - picturing powers and their effects in their crystal-clear minds, and then picturing the word 'ACTIVATE' which would unleash those powers into the material world. And through clearly picturing the word 'CANCEL', the latest power used would be cancelled. And through vigorous cranial discipline - the Arbiter could imagine, activate, implement and cancel a command in the space of just five seconds. But there was still the risk of such powers not being used correctly, and being abused. But providing the Arbiter had a great sense of creativity - it would make them an unstoppable force against the powers of Dark Aether that they were there to dispel.

And that was what Somor was going to truly test today. Finally, after his trek, Somor found an area that he believed he could use to test his abilities. It was past the rocky ground, and was now within a thickly-wooded area with a ground made up of brown dirt and fallen leaves, with a lone stump sat in the middle of a patch of dawn sun streaming through a gap in the trees. Finding a flat row of land onto the intense incline, Somor bent down and pulled the satchel off his back. Pulling away the cream-coloured string that kept the contents from spilling out - he randomly pulled out one of a random assortment of household objects he stole from Denash's house - an old tin can that used to house vegetable stock. Standing up again, and keeping the tin in his right hand, he plonked it on the tree stump then moved back to his original position. This was it. It was time for Somor to test whether he had those powers or not. He lifted his right arm up, centre fighter outstretched; he pictured a narrow white beam with jagged lightning being released out of its perimeter, being released out of his finger and crashing into the can, destroying it: leaving just a few pieces of metal shards on the stump. Somor was deliberately trying to picture various intricate details of the impact of what would happen. He then thought of that word in his head.

_ACTIVATE._

A second later, Somor's cognitive proposal came true. A narrow, yet almost watery-looking white beam with jagged lightning bolts shooting out of the sides crashed into the can, destroying it, leaving only three shards remaining on the floor.

Shouting the word CANCEL in his head, the beam vanished and Somor's body returned to normal. So he now he knew was able to destroy. But could he repair? The Arbiter was able to do both. Now, to test his theories further: Somor walked over to the remains of that poor innocent vegetable stock tin, and using the skills he already mastered: he generated a softer, yellow beam that saw the other pieces of the tin, previously disintegrated by the first blast, reappear: and the pieces slotted back together, with the can looking regenerated yet untouched: as if it had never been broken beforehand. Somor then took another breath. He really did have the powers of the Arbiter of Truth. But it no longer fazed him. It actually made him feel better as it felt no longer like a massive joke.

Which most of his life had now been up to this point.

Somor thought now that one final thing had to be done - he had to be slightly more... grandiose. Repacking the can into the satchel, and re-tying it back and re-acquainting it with his back, Somor began to make his way down the steep incline. But as he walked, he could not see any additional area to practise his new powers - so it gradually sunk in as the minutes passed that there was only one option left: making his way out of the region's walls and entering the field of Lamarou: which was about the closest he got to leaving the kingdom in the last four years (some Lamarouish citizens never even left the walls in their lifetime). And finally - to confirm that the area he was walking down was an intended pathway, he reached the bottom of the hill - and greeting him was a tall, imposing wall of impregnable stone, but with a small crawl-able hole that penetrated the defence. With little effort, his military-learnt skills coming to the element again: Somor found himself on the outside of Lamarou's walls, with the sprawling green, grassy plateaus of the huge, sprawling Field Of Alaunus: that formed the borders of the little field towns and the main kingdoms. It was the most welcome sight to the traveller to see the expanses blow against the soft winds against an early morning sun. But that was not what Somor was thinking about right now. Walking for a further three minutes north into the fields - Somor finally stopped, and felt satisfied that he finally had enough space to try something bigger. But then he spotted something to his right - a small orange butterfly gliding beautifully over a range of purple flowers. And then he remembered. He couldn't afford to not take consideration of the feelings of the animals. _Nothing that affected the field_, he thought. OK.

Somor pictured sparkling red beams in his mind being fired from both his fists that would generate quiet-sounding and small fireworks in the air. It could create quite a show. Pointing both of his wrists up into the sky, he fired a beam out of each fist, and true to his predictions, they quickly hit an altitude where they appeared to take their place among the Alaunian sky - and against the light of the sky as the dawn had not yet decided to end, it was quite a beautiful sight. Realising it had worked: Somor felt that soothing instinct inside, telling him to have fun. Knowing what it meant - over the next five minutes, Somor leapt through the masses of grass, firing different fireworks into the air, of all different colours - with various multicoloured shapes being dissipated from the fireworks. And true to what his instinct was telling him, Somor was enjoying himself, enjoying the way in which he was practising his powers. But five minutes later, he was telling himself he had enough, and cancelled all his powers. For a few, precious seconds, he stood in the field feeling the gentle winds blow past him, experiencing the enlightenment and joy washing over him having done what he had just done. But then, that silence was interrupted.

ZIP.

Somor thought he heard something from behind him, and thinking about it in his mind, he reasoned it sounded like an arrow. Rapidly turning behind him, he then saw an unexpected sight. A rider on a brown horse, with that particular arrow in his side, his body going floppy, falling off the horse.

Go to him. Somor. Go to him.

An alert Somor sprang into action and ran towards where the rider had fallen. Reaching him ten seconds later, with his satchel on his back, he knelt down beside the rider. He was still breathing, but it was erratic and heavy: he was going to have a heart attack very soon. He was a fairly well-built figure, and large in height, definitely that of a soldier. He had light skin, and barely any hair on his head: it must have been totally shaved off. Saying nothing, Somor observed where the arrow had hit him - just beneath his right breast. "Please..." the young man's voice murmured. Somor noticed his pleading word, and thought it might adversely affect his heartbeat.

"Calm down... just calm yourself... OK?" Somor spoke in a very slow, yet soothing tone - remarkably replicating the one that he often felt deep in his heart sometimes.

Suddenly, Somor imagined all the arteries and veins in his wound possibly severed by the arrow being repaired by a beam of soft orange light. Somor unbuttoned the jacket that the young man was wearing, revealing the wound that had pierced his white shirt and his skin. His mind recognised the uniform - Kenatrian Military. Activating the spell within his head, Somor held his right palm over the man's open, blood red wound, and the soft orange beam filtered within. The patient, lying on the grass, was glowing a soft orange, yet he was not fighting the mysterious force entering his body: he had hardly any strength to fight it. Noticing the flow of blood out of his body had now slowed down and had eventually stopped: Somor cancelled the spell. Then, he began to look around him, wondering what to do next. And then, almost miraculously, one of the two trees on the right hand side of where they were contained a health-giving herb: morsogosa. And that was something that Somor learnt how to use when he was in the K.Y.M. Academy as a child. "Wait here" Somor stood up and began running towards the tree: not feeling a particular sense of urgency despite the knowledge of the urgency in this situation - he had faced this sort of thing before, it was innate knowledge to Somor. Pulling a few leaves of the small, stalkless, comb-shaped green herbs: and cupping them between his hands to stop them blowing away in the wind, he found himself near Somor again: and tipped them onto the young man's wound. The man was still delirious. His body still wasn't pumping enough blood around the body to his brain for him to really get a strong grip on his surroundings. Soon however: the morsogosa worked its magic.

Morsogosa's healing properties came from the way in which they reacted with blood cells and blood in general. Their reaction resulted in Morsogosa's biological matter decreasing the volatile nature of blood, but only if they properly dissolved first. So the morsogosa felt against the blood on the soldier's shirt first, and promptly began to break down into almost miniscule fragments, and sank into his body. They would then fall into his bloodstream - and would decrease the volatility of blood flow within, preventing the chance of a blood clot or heart attack. The heart would then feel less of a temptation to be niche about where it would pump blood into the body, stopping the soldier from dying and maintaining activity in the brain stem. True to Somor's interpretation of the theory, the healing process worked relatively well: and he saw the soldier's eyes begin to flicker open initially, and his breathing rate began to return to a steady pace. A degree of colour returned to his face. Somor was relieved and smiled in his mind: he had saved his life. Somor proceeded to move over to him again, as he laid regaining consciousness: he buttoned up his jacket. He then slowly moved away and started to watch him recover, but the soldier noticed him. "Thank you", he murmured, with a smile, but without evident happiness in his voice.

"It was nothing" Somor replied. "But I wouldn't move though - your wound's still open"

"Sigh... bloody flesh wounds..." the irritated soldier muttered, though lying back on the ground with a smile. Somor laughed at his remark.

"Your emblem - Kenatrian army, right?"

"You recognise it?" the soldier muttered.

"I could just tell. Uniform wasn't washed" Somor joked. Somor remembered that in-joke about Kenatrian military uniforms. He didn't bother to think of how amazing it was that he remembered so much about it still, for it formed a large part of his upbringing, and was almost innate to him now.

"I washed it yesterday!" retorted the soldier, tones of laughter and happiness returning to his voice, amid the irritability of the pain.

"Ha-ha. Where?" Somor's patient was gradually easing into conversation with him, possibly recognising the attitude of a military man.

"Arnola, I was riding back from there till that stupid arrow..." Somor sensed that he was getting uncomfortable at the thought of continuing that sentence.

"Hey, losing a couple of disused arteries never hurt anyone" Somor bantered, prompting the soldier to snort.

"Disused? I need all my fucking arteries to be a soldier, mate!" Both males were now laughing. In Somor's mind, he observed that the person he was talking to was perhaps someone who was prematurely aged: a soldier still in his teenage years that had fought in many battles. But as he tried to contemplate on that further in the windswept silence surrounding him and his former patient, the soldier's eyes began to become misty as he looked up at him. "Can I just say mate... thank you for doing that. I... I'm amazed... you're an angel, you are an angel..." Somor nodded, taking the change of emotion in his stride. Whoa, Somor thought to himself. He let out a small laugh, indicating his flattery.

"I guess if everything hadn't had gone white I never would have been called that?" the Citsituan replied back.

"Huh, what does it matter? You saved my life, buddy, that ain't no mean feat!"

Suddenly, Somor hurt trotting of horses against the still-pleasant winds blowing from their left. He looked up and squinted slightly against the now risen sun, and recognised them. They were dressed in Kenatrian Military uniforms. "There he is, sir!" one of the riders shouted. Somor now knew it was time to speak, as that leader, a thin, middle-aged man with blonde hair and moustache, walked towards Somor and the soldier, taking off his helmet.

"He's cured, but his wound's still open. He needs further treatment" The man walked up, and nodded at Somor in acknowledgement.

"Thank you, sir. Are you Lamarouish?"

"No... I'm Somor, I'm Citsituan and have lived in Lamarou for the last four years" The man's eyes widened, first looking at the teenager and then at him. The soldier did not hear Somor mentioning his name through the noises of the other talking officers.

"Big target then, aren't you?" Somor smiled.

"I guess so. I'll leave soon"

"You could come back with us you know, we've got a horse free... a man short" Somor noticed the invitation in his voice. A return home to the army.

"I spent enough years in the KJM as it is. You want to kill me or something?" The middle-aged man gave a slight laugh.

"Really? I'll tell the generals back home, see if they remember you"

"Thank you. Now, OK, let's get you up" Somor moved to the tall and burly soldier and with the help of the officer, got him to his feet: slowly guiding him to the fleet of horses.

"He's a fine one Darom - only fifteen but you wouldn't know"

Somor's heart jumped. He had not heard the name 'Darom' in a long time. He was not even aware that the human being that name belonged to was still alive. Immediately, the mentality he carried with him jumped into action: he was in the middle of a conversation with an officer. An important one at that. He could not let his emotions overwhelm him. In three short seconds, Somor made the decision in his head to briefly suppress the discovery of Darom and continue onwards. A brief pause was still evident in the conversation, but not enough to unmask anything.

"He's learnt well to age in the way he has", Somor spoke up, not letting his speech show evidence of that short but taxing period of thought.

"Indeed" The officer smiled. He definitely was a member of the Kenatrian Military.

Soon, Somor watched the group of riders, with Darom with them, as they begun to negotiate their horses into the Eastern Horizon, and with happiness into his heart, turned back around. But as he did, he heard the voice that was Darom, shouting "I'LL REPAY YOU ONE DAY, ANGEL!"

Somor blocked out the thought of Darom in his mind.

Seeing the kingdom of Lamarou some minutes into the distance: he reasoned in his head that it was now time for him to head back through where he'd come.

Go back, Somor. Go back to Citadel Hill.

**-CORU PORT, EASTERN PARGUI, LINVERIA-**

The two robbers, enclothed entirely in grey, with hoods clouding their heads and almost their faces - silently skittered along the back alleys of the yellow-chalked and brown-stoned alleys of the Linverian capital of Pargui. The plan was clearly laid out in their minds as to what they would do: using the weapons they had in their right-hand side pockets, they and the fruit of their efforts (the jewels they had robbed from a treasury sub-sector) bundled in side satchels on their left-hand side pockets would infiltrate the nearby Coru Port and escape through a hidden city channel to their base there. On paper, it just seemed like they were just attempting to be glory hunters, but it was the only tactical way they could reach the base from their current location: which was in the east of Pargui.

The Linverians had no knowledge of the existence of the parallel kingdom of Alaunus, but if they did: they would realise their capital city was in many ways different to that of the Alaunian city of Lamarou. Pargui was situated in the centre of the kingdom, but was in the middle of a large desert expanse called the Linverian Sands, and the city itself was made from buildings mainly made of chalk and sandstone: with many streets being littered with palm tree plants, with some streets actually receiving helpful shade from the heat that often plagued Pargui in the summer from giant palm trees allowed to grow in random spots of ground within Pargui, as well as the ever helpful street lights. But the Parguian streets consisting of narrow buildings that lacking in width made up for in height - some ordinary houses being as tall as having six floors. But even though it was somewhat of a desert city, it was not to say it was a complete desert: for it had rocky cliffs rising out of the sand at certain locations, as well as docks and trading ports - which could actually filter into the Linverian Sands and into the Merchant Islands to reach other kingdoms. So whilst there were undoubted differences between the two cities - there was one great similarity. Pargui was a centre of culture and commerce, and offered many, possibly a little more of the recreational attractions within its walls that Lamarou offered. It was ultimately towered to its north by the gargantuan Royal Palace: which was placed at such an altitude that when one looked from its balconies - you could not only see the span of the whole city, but the horizon of the Linverian Sands themselves. A truly astonishing sight.

Unless you lived in Kenatria and experienced that similar sort of viewpoint anyway on a daily basis.

The two thieves, whose clothing hid them from description, now ran down one of those familiar alleyways, and now began to slope downwards to a right hand turn, its end signified by a stone ridge at the top.

ZIP!

The thieves stopped in their tracks, shocked and feeling the need to defend themselves. Looking to their right, the one behind the other saw the arrow had bounced off the stone walls and was now lying on at the ground at the side of their feet.

ZIP!

Another arrow fired, and both saw it traverse the air this time. It had just missed the front-thief's face, zipping past his nose, and again bounced off the wall. Now knowing they were somehow under attack, the thieves knew they had to escape and ran, with new urgency, into Coru Port: a large, expansive, stone dock with wooden piers stretching out to where several fishing boats were anchored, residential boats were docked, and large galleons being prepared for their voyages were being moored as construction work was carried out on them. But the thieves bore right to the East-most section of this Eastern dock: housing the large open fishing boats. The leading runner instantly spotted the one they wanted: and pointed to his comrade the one that they intended to grab - an oval shaped object, grey in colour. But noticing it was guarded by an employee of the dock, recognised by his blue dress, the thief gave the brown-haired blue-eyed worker a complimentary punch to the head, that sent him slamming to the ground, before the front runner of the two thieves jumped into the boat, distributing a non-verbal instruction to his comrade to unmoor the boat. Finally, once the boat had been unmoored, the thief at the back (the un-moorer), pointed his right finger at the back of the boat and began to mutter a spell. Purple smoke shot out and the boat started moving: with the magic at the back providing a driving fuel for its movement. No one had to even turn on the mechanisms at the sides of the craft that would make it move naturally: for if they ever needed to change direction, a spell would be used to modify the nature of the magic itself. But in their hurry to get away, the thieves did not notice that the employer they had punched had now gotten up, and was displaying a hand signal to be seen by the other side of the dock.

For the next three minutes: the two thieves careered their boat in a straight line, traversing the inner Parguian seas, coloured a delightful turquoise. The waves gently crashed against the boat as they found themselves pressed together, and for the thieves - it was appearing to be a smooth getaway. But as the fourth minute began, the thief at the front of the boat began to sense that something was wrong. The boat itself was not making a noise from its machinery, but making a slight, almost ticking noise as a result of the magic careering it from behind. But it had gradually increased in volume over time, and there was no reason why it should have done. He turned around to make the enquiry to his colleague, but then underneath his hood, his eyes expanded in shock. They were being pursued. Followed. By two people in the same type of boat as them, the same type of magic being used to steer their boat, and the same sense of urgency. On that boat behind: Hanso and Morda knew they were nearing their target, and it was time for communications to begin. "How far away from them are we?" Hanso cried over the noise of the magic.

"Closer!" Morda replied. Hanso's mind rolled its eyes. Thanks Morda, not very helpful. But Morda could not maintain her humour for very long. For looking ahead at the boat they were chasing, she noticed that the thief directly facing their position was starting to reach into the back of his robe. Morda knew that could only be trouble. "LOOK OUT!" she shouted, and seconds later, she was proven right. The thief had taken out a bow and arrow, and was starting to shoot arrows at the two girls. Hanso, at the front of the boat, was having to watch the way in which the thief was going to fire the arrow and think of where it would land, and then fire a magic spell backwards into the magic fire at the back of the boat. It was an extremely difficult manoeuvre that would have to be attempted by the teenager. One second miscalculated could result in one or both of them being killed and the thieves getting away with their spoils. But the daring feat Hanso was going to try to accomplish could easily be achieved through the military knowledge and precision she had developed over time. The thief attempted to shoot no less than seven arrows that the teenagers, with their boat weaving wildly from side to side in order to avoid falling foul of the thieves' attempted tricks. And when the thief put down his arrow, the girls thought that he was about to surrender. But they could not be more wrong.

The shooting of the arrows was meant to be a temporary distraction - and the battle to avoid the arrows had been raging so much that the 'good guys' in pursuit of the thieves did not notice that they were heading in the direction of the Parguian cliffs that pointed out towards the ocean beyond. The thieves had managed to gain sufficient ground on their chasers to veer out of the way of the stoic, soaked brown rocks. But the girls would not be so lucky. "SHIT!" Morda yelled, seeing the danger. Hanso's mouth opened in anger and fright.

"PULL IT RIGHT!" She ordered. The boat was now steering its way towards the rocks: they would soon be just like the gentle waves crashing against those tall, imposing structures coming out of the water - except the ending would probably not be so gentle. Desperately - Morda turned around to face the purple flame of magic sparking out of the back of the craft, and desperately shot a spell consisting of a green lightning beam at the fire to change the nature of the spell, and five seconds later - just when the boat was almost ready to crash into the formed constellation, the boat changed direction and manoeuvred right, away from the rocks. Hanso let out a big sigh of relief, and flicked away the sweat, despite the knowledge that the chase was still going on, and was about to get tougher. About two minutes ahead, the thieves, having gained further ground away from their attempted captors, now found themselves on the last leg of their journey - what were known in Pargui as the Tube Canals: narrow canals that weaved throughout the outer parts of Pargui, which, despite containing the occasional bridge between two separate streets, were so narrow in fact that only narrow fishing boats were able to fit through. It was theorized by residents that gondolas, like the ones used in Sarpesia, could also be used if they were available to hand. But authorities in Pargui also knew that the canals were often used as a trade route for smugglers and other ne'er-do-wells in the city trying to escape them: and the thieves that Hanso and Morda were now chasing were no exception.

Having added to the ferocity of their magical fuel, the girls were now gaining ground by the time that the thieves entered the Tube Canals. A slight sense of relief entered Morda's mind as they knew that the pursuit could not last much longer - but then Hanso's shout made her jump. "MINES!" Morda, for a second, did not know what to do. But then, as the rushing winds of the Parguian seas began to die down as their craft re-entered the city, Morda turned around and yet again modified the spell: which would make the boat jump over mines. She would fire the Jokova charm (the jumping charm) at that strange powering fire every time Hanso gave the order. But now, concern was entering Hanso's head. This was a narrow canal, hardly any room to move, and now they had to jump to avoid special mines that the thieves had somehow got hold of, and were throwing them into the canals? It was almost too much. But she knew she had to keep her head, and shouted back to Morda, now fully in charge of the ship's fuelling property. "MAKE IT GO TILTING AFTER YOU JUMP, GIRL!" Hanso cried out to her, and a sighing Morda understood the order. And for four long minutes - this saga continued. The thieves became increasingly more frustrated as they threw mine after mine (of which they had a large supply - they had picked them up at a black market just in case they did get chased), but their opponents matched their every move, jumping and weaving out of the way of an explosive death. But looking ahead, the thief stationed at the top of the craft in front smiled under his dull, grey, hood: one of Pargui's greatest landmarks - the Canal Zenith, was about to be passed under. The Canal Zenith was a large, imposing gothic structure stretched over 40 feet into the air, and served as an architectural masterpiece as the Tube Canals began to run into a larger body of water within Pargui. To the bad crowd who moved through this structure: it was almost like a finish line with a nearby water statue serving as the chequered flag. For once they passed it, they would jump down a small waterfall into the bigger lake, and would then negotiate their way through a secret section of wall in the bottom left hand corner of the area: allowing them to access the unknown underground routes that they used to get back to their secret base.

But Hanso and Morda knew that too. And knowing that the chase was about to end - Hanso knew it was time to take action.

As the Canal Zenith, in its full glory, began to come into view, and it was now clear the Tube Canal they were now on was heading straight down towards the ending waterfall: the cloaked figure at the back of the thieves' boat tossed one last mine in the direction of their attempted crushers. But Hanso got to the front of the craft and leant forward - successfully catching the mine with both hands. She recognised the design as being that of a Timed Mine, so it would not explode on contact with the first thing that touched it (which was partially what she feared at the beginning, but had got to understand the design of the mines they were using about halfway down the canals). And now, spotting the Zenith, she knew it was time to get desperate. Hanso, with all her strength, and letting out a feral scream as she did so - chucked the mine forward towards the architecture ahead. The thieves briefly looked on in confusion, but then knew what was going to happen.

The mine exploded on impact: and a crack instantly appeared at the top of the Zenith. It was not strong enough for the whole grandiose piece to come crashing down, but it was enough for a jaggy slice of gothic rock to come sliding off the centre of the very top, and it fell towards the waters of Pargui. The Mercenaries didn't have time to notice they were in the firing line, and six seconds later, the rock made its invited entrance, slicing the thieves' boat in two, sinking it: with an added garnish of red indicating the mortal capture of the thieves. And as Morda slowed the boat down, Hanso also noticed there were survivors of the terrible scene - namely, the small wrapped bags floating in the water, some among the small lake of blood, and a few pressing against the rock, almost wanting to climb up onto it to avoid the waters, which would soon soak them through.

"HEY!" The girls turned around, and saw Medav, still dressed in his worker's uniform, standing on a nearby, white-coloured dockside. Golan and Larex were standing alongside.

"No need to shout, mate, we can hear you!" Morda retorted. Medav laughed.

"Girls can't hear that well" Medav replied.

"Enough. Gather up the jewels guys, we'll be back at base by sundown" Larex nodded without looking at Golan. But he spoke again. "Larex, you did a great job today - scaring them to the docks" Larex smiled."

"I've been practising. I didn't want a repeat of what happened at Druanus"

"That won't happen again. And it didn't happen today"

As Hanso and Morda manoeuvred their boat to scoop up the sacks of stolen jewels against the no-longer romantic looking scenery of the Parguian Canals, Larex's mind took a smile. She was glad to get appreciation from her boss, especially as it meant she didn't have to go home.

**-CITADEL HILL-**

Jemla's intentions and route were clear in her mind. As the urban buildings of Lamarou fell away from behind her and she prepared herself for the descent of the unforgiving green hillsides that lead to that place she loved, Citadel Hill, she felt certain in her head that Somor had to be up here. And they had to find him. Not for any reason of worry at all, she just needed to see if she was alright. And behind her - Denash and Eamin kept pace with Jemla, letting her take the lead. Despite being ejected from home, Eamin was enjoying this new outdoorsy life she was living - for every day she would now do the sort of things she enjoyed doing the most; one of which was just running around feeling free.

A ten minute hike past the blowing trees and beautiful songs of insects, and Denash tripping over a mound of earth and nearly twisting her ankle - and the three girls reached that familiar spot, and there was Somor, standing, almost dramatically, in the middle of the rocky space where they had sat just two days earlier when Somor had first become the Arbiter. Confusion began to enter the girls' hearts: just what was going on now?

"Somy?" Jemla enquired, wondering what the latest chronicle was in Somor's emotional decline. Denash's mind resolved itself.

"Somy, are you alright?" she asked, taking a slight step forwards.

Somor heard her words, and upon hearing them, turned his head to the sky, and saw that tiny black circle towards the north-east of his vision of the sky: just sitting there, not doing anything - but he knew it had to be slightly bigger now than it was last night. But then, Somor felt himself, and his mind, going out of control. The world was falling away from his senses... but he felt that familiar, soothing, instinct - deep down inside him, rising to take control. But after that, he could not notice. His limbs were stretching out, just as they had done in the Castle Of Lamarou, in fact, it was an almost identical scene. Except now, such an event was happening outdoors. "SOMOR!" Eamin shouted, reaching to head over to Somor, but Jemla thrust her arms round Eamin's shoulders to pull her back.

"Don't girl, it's too dangerous!" Jemla replied in a half shout, and Eamin could only stand there, scared, wondering what was happening to her friend. But then this, strange, event proceeded to become even stranger: as a large, audible voice began to resonate from Somor's possessed body, with the intention of communication. The auras were so bright that the girls put their hands in front of their eyes to shade them from the seemingly blinding light.

_Jemla... Denash... Eamin... can you hear me? There is no need to be dazzled by my light..._

The three young women should have been scared by this new phenomenon. They should have been. But there was something about the magical voice that spoke from those deadly-looking golden auras possessing Somor that was somewhat... calming. It gently, with its mysterious tone, tempted the three of them into listening - lowering their hands serving as shields. They no longer felt any insecurity about Somor, nor about this new unfolding supernatural experience. It was almost as if those thoughts had been gently removed from their minds.

_The object in the sky is known as the Dark Moon. It has been conjured by the dark lord called Larazak, and will crash into this planet in two weeks time... prematurely ending the Second Age of this world..._

Jemla felt a sudden surge of confidence, feeling brave enough to ask a question. "But why are you telling us this? What can we do?"

_The only way to destroy the Dark Object is by accessing the Cosmic Chamber in the Temple Of The Ancients. But as the Arbiter, only Somor can do so. Larazak is aware of this and has stolen the four circular keys that act as a method of entry to the Chamber. You must help Somor to retrieve the four ancient keys, required to unlock the White Door._

"You mean, help him save the world?" Eamin blurted out.

_You are his friends, aren't you?_

"Course he is. So now what?" Denash angrily replied, defiance evident in her tone.

_The first element is in Gremii. The area you are searching for is one called the Poisoned Woods. But thankfully, destiny will lead you in there. I will keep in touch with you... help... Somor..._

There was a last note of desperation and love when the voice muttered its last word, inconsistent with the mysterious soothing nature that had blanketed the disembodied orator. But then the rays shot back into Somor, and eyes widened, recovering from the shock, Somor returned to the world of the living. Whilst he didn't feel or hear that voice's words, he knew beforehand what he had to do. And seeing the looks of determination in his friends' faces, he reasoned they had just been informed. But beginning to pace around the rocky environment, as he did in times of stress, Somor began to speak as he did so.

"I'm sorry... it's just - everything is so sudden. Everything has happened so suddenly. I can't handle the thought of you suffering for what I have to go through..."

"We're coming with you" Somor turned around. It was Denash who made the interjection.

"You don't have to obey; I can do this on my own if I want to... I can defy-"

"You can't defy The Deity, Somor" Eamin replied, once again being cut off.

"Somy, we've been given orders. And... no matter how this ends, we'll be there. We'll do this together" Somor felt himself being touched by his friend's words, and knew there was no more sense in trying to argue whatever points he had left to argue. And he felt himself slowly nodding.

"Besides, we could do a bit of adventure, right, girls? It's great getting out" Denash replied with a smile. Jemla turned around to face her friend.

"Right!"

"It's sorted, Somor. We know what we are doing, right?"

"Yeah. So we'll leave tomorrow" Somor said.

"Yep... we'll make the decisions tonight of how we'll get to Gremii" Jemla nodded in agreement.

And so, the beginning of the end of Somor's life had commenced.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._**


End file.
